


Deranged

by mageswagger



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-24 00:52:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7486932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mageswagger/pseuds/mageswagger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCree hadn’t meant to find any sort of trouble. It was why he’d left, and it was how he’d wound up in Santa Fe. It wasn’t even the heart of Santa Fe – it was the outskirts that still looked like the West that McCree had grown up in. </p><p>Laying low wasn’t a game he was good at – or, not one he’d been good at in the past – but he was learning mighty quick. Blackwatch might try to find him for all he knew, the cops didn’t like him, and he didn’t want Overwatch to try and reel him back in to a fight he didn’t want to.</p><p>"If lawyers are disbarred and clergymen are defrocked, shouldn't it follow that cowboys would be deranged?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so, things to get out of the way: this is set pre-canon and immediately after McCree resigns from Overwatch. Mostly this is me exercising writing McCree because I adore him, and exploring potential ideas for what he did before he fell into freelance mercenary work as we know in canon. This story'll be probably anywhere around 6-12 chapters dependin' on how my muse winds out workin' out, but it isn't gonna be super extensive.
> 
> Regarding taggings: the abusive relationship is NOT including McCree. No worries. And I'm not going to get graphically into that - only so far as McCree witnesses and deals with.
> 
> Tags will be added as necessary. It's possible this rating will jump up to Explicit. It's also possible that this fic acts as a backdrop for future fic.

_With her sweetened breath, and her tongue so mean_  
_She's the angel of small death and the codeine scene_  
 _With her straw-blonde hair, her arms hard and lean_  
 _She's the angel of small death and the codeine scene_

 

McCree hadn’t meant to find any sort of trouble. It was why he’d left, and it was how he’d wound up in Santa Fe. It wasn’t even the heart of Santa Fe – it was the outskirts that still looked like the West that McCree had grown up in. He’d changed his clothes and shoes, everything that served to identify him as Jesse McCree but for his hat, which he kept tilted low to cover his eyes. His mechanical forearm was covered as best as he could manage with the long sleeve of his uncommonly large shirt – meant to cover the chest plate that he never felt fully safe removing – and the glint of metal fingers stifled by a leather glove. His poncho was gone, replaced with a long leather jacket, and instead tucked carefully into his duffle bag. His belt buckle was gone as well, tucked away within the careful wrapping of the poncho, and replaced with a simpler one. Overall he looked just different enough to avert any curious gazes. Likely, he shouldn’t have been smoking, and he probably should have tucked his peacekeeper away, but the cigar wedged between his lips helped stave off the stress of everything and there was no way in hell he was letting his gun go anywhere but its holster or his hand, even if it caught a few more glances than he might have liked.

Laying low wasn’t a game he was good at – or, not one he’d been good at in the past – but he was learning mighty quick. Blackreach might try to find him for all he knew, the cops didn’t like him, and he didn’t want Overwatch to try and reel him back in to a fight he didn’t want to.

Whiskey was the first step, in his mind, to figuring out what he was going to do next. Really, it was a bad idea. He shoulda known as much when the large and hulking figure of a self-important man came to sit on the stool beside him despite the fact that there were dozens of spaces open along the bar. McCree didn’t look at him, just kept sipping his whiskey and maintained the appearance of indifference even if he was ready to pull the pistol free in half a second if the situation called for it.

“Not seen you around town before,” the man said in a drawl to rival McCree’s own. McCree didn’t even glance towards them – he just sat his empty glass down and motioned for the bartender to give him another.

“Just passin’ through,” Jesse said, plain as ever, watching the amber liquid gently splash into the glass.

“Well there’s the thing about that,” the man said, turning fully to face him. McCree internall cursed his luck. “No one just passes through without paying an entrance fee, if you understand me.”

“I understand that you’re tryin’ to extort the good people of this town,” McCree said despite himself, cold gaze finally turning to clash with the behemoth’s. “I hate to break it to you, stranger, but that trick ain’t gonna work on me.”

“Then how about I shake your coin out of you?” the extortionist growled, standing and towering over the still-seated McCree. McCree took a long sip of his whiskey, unconcered with the upcoming fight. The only thing that concerned him was that he was going to have to move along from this town a little sooner than he wanted.

“You’re welcome to try,” he said once the glass left his lips and he set it down on the bar top. He stood – and even at his six foot one, the other still towered over him. “But it ain’t gonna be me sore by the end of this.”

The man growled and reeled back with his fist, and Jesse’s hand moved quickly to his gun with every intent to slam a bullet into one of the man’s many squishy and vulnerable parts. What he didn’t expect was the ticking sound of engineering and a burst of light. In an instant the duo found themselves frozen, and for a second McCree thought that he’d been tricked – but if the behemoth had friends, then why was he caught up too?

“Coulson, you get your dense head outta this bar,” a sharp, feminine voice demanded. McCree couldn’t turn his head, but his eyes worked just fine, and they darted over towards the voice to see a woman standing there on top of the saloons piano. She was dressed fancily, skirt to her feet and corset around her middle, with her dark hair done up on the top of her head in a mass of curls that McCree couldn’t fully understand the physics of.

“Let me go, Hart,” the behemoth – Coulson – demanded in a low growl.

Hart scoffed, hefting up her skirt and revealing a glimpse of pale knees and mechanical heels as she stepped down from the piano and onto to the bench, overstepping the pianist without any hesitation, and then down to the floor with the loud clack of heels on hardwood. She approached them, no-nonsense written on her face.

“You know this is my brother’s bar, Coulson,” she chastised. “Now I don’t give one rip about you getting your thick skull busted in – but you ain’t doin’ it in this bar. Either you leave, or I leave you trussed up as a lesson to everyone else here. I think you’d make a mighty fine statue.”

Coulson gave a low snarl of discontent – and McCree would have cared about it, if his attention hadn’t focused on the woman instead. She was small – maybe five foot five in those heels – and the roundness of her face wasn’t one that instinctively screamed strength. But her nose was long, her lips thin, and her eyes were so dark they were almost black. As he looked her over the behemoth seemed to relent – or at the very least Hart was satisfied, because the blue spark of mechanical energy that had frozen Coulson in place evaporated. McCree noted with displeasure that his, however, had not.

The man lumbered crankily from the bar, sending furtive glances back towards them, and Jesse doubted that would be the last of them. His gaze wasn’t allowed to watch Coulson’s departure – the little girl in front of him demanded it before his thoughts could wander.

“I don’t know who you are, or where you’re from, but if you try to pull a weapon in this bar again I’m going to let Coulson pummel you. Ya hear?” she said.

“Yes ma’am,” McCree answered. Hart nodded, and finally he was released. He pulled his hand back from his holster and let it hang by his side.

“You just passin’ through? Cause if you need a place to stay, there’s an inn up the way that doesn’t charge much,” she said. “But Coulson isn’t gonna let you wander off without some type of retribution now that his pride’s sore.”

“You think I can’t handle myself?” he asked even as he took his seat again and picked up his glass as if nothing had happened.

“I think that you’re gonna get run out of town mighty fast if you try to take him and his gang on,” she said. “Don’t be stupid. It’ll only get you in trouble.”

McCree grinned slightly and tipped his hat. “Thank ya kindly for the advice. I’ll try not to make a mess when I leave.”

Hart turned, clearly done with their conversation. Whether or not she was satisfied he couldn’t tell one way or another. As she left she picked up a small silver disk – the one that had no doubt frozen him in place – and tucked it into the folds of her skirt. She didn’t return to the piano, even when the music kicked up again. She walked on by and out of the saloon, and McCree finally pulled his gaze back when the swinging doors stilled. He took another slow drink, mind lingering curiously on the encounter, before setting the glass aside and slapping down his payment – and a little extra, to apologize for the scuffle. Eyes followed him out, and McCree realized solomnely that he was going to have to move on from this little town. It was a shame; he’d really thought it might work well for his needs. What better place to disappear than the middle of nowhere?

The sun was setting along the expanse of horizon he could see down the road, and Jesse slipped his hands into the pockets of his pants as he walked along the road, each step rustling his spurs. He caught a few stray glances lingering for a moment longer than what he was comfortable with, and he tipped his hat even lower, kept his head down, and walked on. Hart had said that there was an inn not far – and so he kept his gaze up, jumping from building to building until he finally caught sight of a glowing neon board proclaiming that there were vacancies.

McCree took a step to the building. Suddenly the street around him was quiet, and as he lifted his gaze he was unsurprised to see the face of Coulson staring back at him, across the street and backed by a group of at least ten thugs. They were armed in various ways, metal bats and a few guns in between, and McCree realized that this is what the saloon girl must have meant when she said that Coulson wasn’t going to let it lie.

“Smithy said you might head towards the Inn,” the Neanderthal said, cracking his fists menacingly. McCree recognized one of the men – a small slip of a guy, tall and lean and hunched over as if he’d never once walked with decent posture in his life. He’d been sitting in the bar. McCree reckoned that Smithy had overheard his conversation with Hart and had run off to tattle to the Big Boss after.

“Don’t want a fight,” McCree cautioned, taking a slow puff of his cigar. “Just passin’ through.”

“There’s no way you’re getting away without a few bruises,” Coulson said. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about givin’ us the cash.”

The streets were empty save for the group and himself, and as the sun sank lower the wind whistled between the buildings and rustled his jacket. His hand came to rest on his peacekeeper. “I’d suggest changin’ your mind,” he drawled. “Because now, ain’t nothin’ stoppin’ me from teachin’ you a lesson.”

Coulson laughed, the deep sound echoing around them. It wasn’t one of amusement though, and the gang leader’s eyes narrowed dangerously in a split second.

“Teach this nobody a lesson.”

A group of men stepped forward. McCree wasn’t aiming to kill – but he wasn’t beyond using his revolver. The group barely shifted before he’d slipped his gun from its holster and unleashed a quick fan of bullets, one after the other, and six of the men fell with disgruntled cries of surprise as their bodies were perforated with bullet holes. McCree reloded his gun in an instant, and the remaining stragglers had overcome their surprise in that time to lunch at him.

Jesse knew that he wasn’t a small man – but that hadn’t kept him from learning to be quick and almost graceful. He dodged and weaved as the assailants tried to catch him off guard, only catching a glance of a bat against his forearm. The clang of metal-on-metal echoed and McCree aimed carefully and quickly, a bullet lodging itself in the midsections of every man around him. The groaned, tapered off and clutching their wounds, but as McCree made to reload the graceful movement was interrupted as a hard swing connected with the back of his head and sent him stumbling with ringing ears.

The hat that rarely left his head flew off, caught up in the wind, and there was a beat of silence as the assailant – no doubt Coulson if the size of the ache said anything about the size of the fist that hit him – got a good look at his face. McCree looked up, and their eyes clashed. The gleam in Coulson’s eyes turned greedy.

“Know a few folks that’d pay good money for you,” he said. McCree knew he had little choice, but as he moved to reload he was quickly grabbed by one of the men he’d shot before. Clearly, bullet wounds were nothing to him. The man grappled with him, keeping him from pushing the bullets into place, and McCree elbowed him remorselessly in the nose. There was a sickening crunch of bone, and a spray of blood as the nose snapped, but McCree was quickly offered a taste of karma as Coulson tackled him and sent him sprawling to the floor – and sent his revolver spinning across the ground.

“Well, shit,” he grumbled, even as he quickly threw himself into the brawl with no holds barred. His fist slammed into Coulson’s meaty face, but the man was like a rock – even with the telltale red of a forming bruise taking up half of his face he was relentless, thick fingers curling up to a fist and nearly connecting with McCree’s eye were it not for the cowboy’s quick roll to evade the attack.

He went for the gun. Coulson anticipated as much. They kicked hard and McCree rolled again, reaching out for his gun, but even as he stood and moved to unleash all six rounds on the man – enough to kill – Coulson had already reeled back and prepared his fist to connect with McCree’s cheek. McCree wasn’t weak, by any stretch of the imagination, but Coulson had the fist the size of an industrial truck and all the force to go with it. The weight of it took him to his knees, groaning even as his fingers wrapped around the hilt of his gun, and he turned to fire off a shot into Coulson’s expansive chest. Normally it’d take a man down – but with no small amount of cursing, McCree realized part of the man’s bulk was due to the gleam of metal underneath his shirt.

Well, shit.

The next punch came and McCree ducked to avoid it, but he couldn't avoid the follow up punch – not with his ears ringing and his momentum taking him straight into the meaty fist. His vision blurred and he fell like a rock, clinging desperately to consciousness. He could see Coulson’s form pulling back to punch again, and McCree tightened his grip on his peackeeper, firing off another shot from his prone position on the ground. This one cut through Coulson’s neck, sending a spray of blood over McCree’s face as his body fell back.

McCree laid there for a moment, trying to stand and failing, head heavy and sore from the assault.

As awareness began to fade to black, he felt small hands pressing to his back, pulling at him demandingly, and a flash of pale skin. He moved to reach out, to push the stranger away, but as his hand met skin his body gave up – and the darkness finally claimed him.


	2. Jackie and Wilson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse wakes up in a ranch outside of town, and finds himself offered a chance to get out of sight.

_She blows outta nowhere, roman candle of the wild_  
_Laughing away through my feeble disguise_  
 _No other version of me I would rather be tonight._  
 _And, Lord, she found me just in time_

 

When McCree woke it was with a headache to rival the worst hangover in the world, and with no knowledge of where he was. He remembered passing out in the street from the demanding fists of Coulson – he also remembered with a small amount of personal satisfaction that he wasn’t wholly proud of that Coulson hadn’t lived through the beating. He remembered falling, remembered small hands and pale skin, and then nothing.

Gingerly, he forced his eyes open. He found himself staring up at the ceiling, stark white and crossed with large wooden planks that went from one end of the room to the other. He turned his head, grimacing at the pain, and found that the scheme continued – white walls with pale wooden furnishing. A dresser, topped with a large mirror and what looked like hand made pottery, and a nightstand topped with a lamp and his peacekeeper and holster. There was a ledge that served as a bookshelf and seat under the window, and diagonal to the thin twin-sized bed he was on was a darker wooden door.

Sitting up with a small curse, McCree wondered how he’d not rolled off the bed in his sleep – it was barely big enough to fit him. Secondly, he wondered who had bothered taking him here, and why they’d bothered taking off his shoes and most of his armor. The only thing that hadn’t been removed was his pants – which he was stunningly thankful for. There was more than enough awkward already brewing from the situation as it was.

Jesse swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, giving a muttered curse as his head swam. He used the dresser to support himself for a moment, hand gripping the edge as he dared to glance into the mirror.

“Shit. That’s gonna take a while to heal,” he murmured, eying the large bruise that took up half of his face.

“It’d heal faster if you’d lay back down.”

McCree glanced up at the doorway through the mirror. There, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed over her chest, was the saloon girl. Hart. Her hair was loose, curls clinging to the pale slope of her throat, and she was no longer dressed in the large skirt and corset ensemble from before. Now she was dressed in a pair of jeans – work jeans, based on the way they were scuffed and the thickness of the denim – and a low-collared shirt under a deerskin vest.

“Suppose you weren’t kiddin’ about Coulson,” McCree said, turning to face her.

“I don’t kid about much,” she said, straightening and stepping fully into the room. “Your clothes are in the wash, ‘cept for your jeans. Obviously. Can wash those too if you want, but I don’t know if my husband’s jeans’ll fit ya any better than mine.”

“Might be worth a try if it meant fresh clothes,” he said, noting that she said husband but there was no glimmering rock on her finger to back it up. “If you’re offering. I plan on bein’ out of your hair soon.”

“Face like that’ll get you noticed,” she said.

He gave a teasing grin, lips curling upward. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Hart shook her head. “You’re wanted in the tri-state area now. More than that once they realize who you are. I’d recommend laying low.”

“And where would you recommend doing that?” McCree asked, brow arched despite the ache it sent through his forehead.

“That depends,” Hart said. “You familiar with ranching, or is that getup just for show?”

“I’m familiar,” he said, not entirely sure he understood where she was taking this.

Hart looked at him, tonguing the toothpick that poked between her lips and switching it from one corner of her mouth to the other. “Could use more stable hands around here. Had one, but lost ‘em to the big city. Hard to keep people interested in a life like this when you got all that fancy machinery that can do much of it. You look strong – sturdy. You also look like a man who needs to get out of the public eye. Ain’t nobody around here for at least a thousand acres – I know it, cause that’s all my land. Town’s twenty miles to the south. No one comes up here cept for ridin’ lessons on Saturdays.”

“I’m not much of a stable hand – not anymore,” McCree said cautiously, watching her.

“You got anythin’ better to do?” Hart asked, brow arched in a way that told him she knew full well that he didn’t. “I know a man that’s tryin’ to get away from somethin’. And that looks like you. I’m offerin’ you a place to lay low and a paycheck to keep you fed.”

“Why offer at all?” McCree asked suspiciously. What did she gain form helping him? Why even bother?

“You killed Coulson and hospitalized the rest of his goons. Figure the town owes you for it, even if no one’ll say they wanted the shithead dead. When they realize it was Jesse McCree that did it, they’re gonna be real quick to put a lot of extra blame on you – extra blame I don’t rightly think you deserve. That and I really could use the extra hands.”

So she knew who he was. He wasn’t surprised – the arm, the gun, the hat, it all gave it away. He was partially surprised she hadn’t left him to the police force, but Hart seemed like an honest woman; McCree knew liars, was one on occasion, and he knew that there was sincerity in her words. Whether that was the only reason was another matter entirely, but he couldn’t see a trace of deceit in her.

Carefully weighing out his options, he realized this might be the best first step he could find to disappearing. Who’d look on a ranch for him, after the life he’d lead? Life as a stable hand was tame compared to the life he’d always led – life on a ranch in the middle of the New Mexican wilderness was isolated and evasive and really, he should say no despite all that. “What kind of animal you ranchin’?” he asked instead.

“Cattle and horses,” Hart answered. “You good with them?”

“Am I good with them,” he gave a small scoff. “Darlin’, ain’t never been a horse that I couldn’t tend to, and ain’t never been a cow that could outsmart me.”

To his surprise her lips, which had thus far been stuck in either a slight frown or an impassive part, turned up into a small little grin that made her eyes gleam. “I’m willin’ to test you on that. Is that a yes?”

McCree nodded, stepping towards her. “It’s a yes, for now. Can’t guarantee I’ll stay on forever though. Got things to do. Business.”

“Help is help, and I’m not in a spot where I can be picky about how long it’s gonna last,” she admitted as she straightened and closed some of the distance between them. Hart offered him her hand, and he took it in his much larger one. His skin was several shades darker than hers – unsurprising considering the Spanish blood that ran strong through his veins – and he wondered how she survived, pale as she was, without turning a nasty shade of red every day.

“Can I get your name?” he asked, letting his hand drop.

“Aidan Hart,” she answered. “Owner of Hart Ranch and Saddle Company.”

“Your husband ain’t gonna be mad you went and hired a fugitive, is he?” McCree asked with a raised brow.

“My husband ain’t gonna say a damn thing about it,” she said briefly. McCree couldn’t tell if the brevity was from her natural temperament (which as far as he’d picked up left very little room for joking and teasing), or if he’d stepped on a sore spot. He had to assume it was just her natural temperament, because she continued speaking as if it were nothing. “Speakin’ of, I’ll go grab you some spare clothes. Can also get you some balm for your face, if it’s sore.”

It was sore – very sore – and so he nodded. Aidan turned on her heel and headed from the room, leaving the door open behind her. McCree took that as an invitation to trail after her, and so he did. He didn’t feel the need to grab his holster – not knowing that Aidan had saved his skin – and so he left it sitting on the nightstand. After a moments thought, he wondered how much her husband knew, and if he was the type of man to wind himself up over the idea of a shirtless man wandering around after his wife.

She led him to a door and when he got a glimpse of a large bed he politely paused outside, waiting for her to find what she was looking for from there. She returned briefly, a pair of denim folded in her arms along with a large tee shirt. On top of that was a jar of what looked like lotion, a strip of tape slapped on the lid that read ‘for bruises’ in a sloppy scrawl. Aidan extended the bundle to him, and he accepted it.

“Laundry is just down the hall on your left,” she said. “Put your jeans in the hamper and they’ll get washed. Go ahead and keep the jar with you for now – you need it more than I do.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said politely. Aidan stepped from the doorway and pulled the door shut behind her.

“Too late to get you on stable duty now,” she said, glancing out the window to the sun. Far as he could tell it couldn’t be past eight in the morning – he’d never been a late sleeper, at least not in recent hears and not when he was sober. “I’ll work on training you tomorrow. You may have some experience, but I’d rather get you suited to how my stables run.”

“You got many other people that work here?” McCree asked curiously.

“Only a few, but they’re all seasonal. Most don’t start till November. Right now we’re runnin’ on the bare bones, about 500 cows per herd, and one hand per herd. Right now we’ve got two thousand cows, and only three hands. Matt – our vet – has been picking up some slack where he can, but he’s not suited for the labor. He’s better at taking care of the cows and keeping ‘em healthy and helpin’ us get the medications we need. We got hands that work the fields, producing hay and the like, but they’re only around during planting season and don’t stick around much aside from then.” Her gaze slid over to him. “You’re a strong lookin’ guy. That’s exactly what we need.”

“Not just strong looking,” he said wryly. If Aidan found it funny, he couldn’t tell. Her gaze had already gone back outside.

“You can either keep stayin’ in the guest room, or set up in the guest house. It’s a converted barn we grew out of, so it’s small, but it’ll offer you some privacy. Plus it’s got a nicer bed.”

Privacy sounded ideal, and so he said: “I’ll take the guest house, if it isn’t a problem.”

“Figured that might appeal to you. When you’re done getting dressed, meet me on the front porch. I’ll drive you over.”

“Is it that far away?” McCree asked, not wholly surprised – ranches were big places – but a little caught off guard that it was far enough to merit a car ride.

“It’s about a twenty minute walk. It’s closer to the fields than the house is though. Sides. The walk’ll wake you up in the mornings.”

Aidan moved around him, heading off towards the kitchen and leaving him to watch as she disappeared around the corner. She was an odd one – gruff and antisocial as far as he could tell – and now she was his boss. He couldn’t really say she was that different from his last boss, actually. He pondered further as he moved back towards the guest room to change, carefully closing the door behind him before setting the bundle on the bed and dropping his hands to his pants. He pushed them down over his hips along with his chaps and pushed them aside with his toe as he reached for the new denim that was, essentially, his new uniform.

To his relief the pants fit, at least where it counted. They were a little snug around the waist, but nothing too bad, and came up a little high around the ankles, but with his chaps and boots back on they did a good job of covering that. He couldn’t do anything about the snugly fitting shirt, but he was a strong man – in shape – so he wasn’t exactly ashamed of the way it clung to the cut of his muscles.

Next came taking care of his face. McCree set the jar on the nightstand and unscrewed it as his gaze lifted to take in the damage properly. Half his face was purple and swollen, but he had always been a quick healer – it’d likely be gone by the end of the week. Fingers dipped into the cool gel and delicately pressed to the worst of the bruise, smoothing the slick substance over his face with a grimace as pain tingled over his skin. He rubbed it into his skin as much as he dared before finally calling it quits. He’d have to do it again later, sure, but for now he was tired of agitating the skin.

When he left the room it was with his holster and peacekeeper back in place and his dirty pants folded over one arm; he dropped those off in the laundry on his way out to the front door and found Aidan waiting for him as promised. She glanced back at him over her shoulder, making sure it was him, and then set off towards her large truck. There was nothing more he could do but follow, jar of gel held loosely in one hand.

As she drove she pointed out the bits of the ranch he could see – and it was huge, as he’d thought. He could also finally see what the ranch house looked like from the outside. The style was a little surprising – adobe and pueblo, the color of saffron and squat where most buildings he saw towered overhead. But it matched the scheme of old Santa Fe, so in a way it was fitting. After three minutes of driving he got a good look at the main barn, the largest structure he’d seen so far, which emptied out into fields swarming with cattle. Good god, to think that there were over a thousand – he’d never seen so many cows in one place. He’d only ever seen small ranches, simple things: nothing so expansive as this operation.

“How’d you wind up in the ranching business?” he asked curiously.

“Born into it,” she answered, one hand resting lazily on top of the wheel while her elbow propped up on the windowsill. “Grew up in a small ranch in the southwest. When I got married, I came up here.”

“Your husband work the ranch too?” McCree asked. Aidan only gave a small hum – one he took as a yes. Hart was a private woman, and he didn’t think there was any sense in prying for more information even if he was curious. If he was going to be working here, then he’d learn soon enough.

The truck pulled up in front of a small white-paneled barn – clearly the one that had been refurbished. She parked in the thick patch of gravel clearly meant to denote a parking lot and he hopped out of the car, boots grinding the gravel further into the ground.

“Pay comes at about two thousand dollars a month, given you’re not a hindrance,” she said as she guided him up the steps. “But if you’re stayin’ here, some of that has to come out to pay for the bills. We normally keep the electricity and water here cut off to keep cost low.”

“Sounds fair to me,” McCree said – and it did.

“Shouldn’t cost you too much if your careful,” she continued as she opened the screen door before pulling a key from her pocket and unlocking the front door. She toed that open with her boot and McCree stepped forward to pull the screen door back so she could open the main one without getting smacked in the behind with the other.

The barn only had two rooms, as far as he could see – the main room and the kitchen were all one, and took up the expanse of the first floor. A set of stairs tucked in the right corner led up to a loft, where he saw the beginnings of a bedroom and a door that must lead to the bath. It was small, as she’d said, but it was good enough for him. He didn’t need much.

“We order our groceries in so we don’t have to go out to town,” Aidan explained, stepping into the living room and placing a key on the coffee table. “So put together a list and give it to me before Friday morning, and I’ll add it in. Cost’ll just come out of your paycheck.”

“You’re doin’ me a mighty big favor, with all this,” McCree said. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to fully repay you.”

“Just do your job well, and there’s nothin’ left to repay,” she said, turning to face him. “You got any other questions, or do you want me to leave you to settle in?”

There was no reason to bother her any more, and so he simply shook his head. Aidan nodded and moved past him towards the door. “I’ll get your clothes back out to you before the end of the day. I’ll be by tomorrow morning around 4:30 to start your training. If you want food, call up the house – number should be written on the notepad on the fridge. I’ll get you somethin’ to eat.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, watching as she nudged the door open with her foot and pushed open the screen door. “Thanks again.”

“You won’t be thankin’ me tomorrow.”

She looked over her shoulder at him and flashed a grin that caught him off guard – it was the most she’d emoted thus far, and he was surprised at the way her face lit up with humor he hadn’t been wholly certain she could feel. But as soon as the expression was there it was gone, and she’d left the building and let the screen door bang shut behind her as she set course to her truck with her hands shoved deep in her pockets.

McCree watched her, arms crossed over his chest and mind slowly working. It looked like he was going to have a lot of time to figure out how Aidan Hart worked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated a little sooner than I imagined I would, mostly cause I feel like this chapter is a bit necessary to scope out the feel of the rest of the story. As before, let me know if this holds your interest, and any tips you might have are appreciated.


	3. Someone New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As far as first days on the job go, McCree's had worse.

_There's an art to life's distractions,_  
_To somehow escape the burning weight, the art of scraping through,_  
_Some like to imagine,_  
_The dark caress of someone else, I guess any thrill will do_

McCree woke to the sound of an alarm blaring and the thundering of the screen door as it slapped against the frame. He sat up, nude as the day he was born and covered only in the thin sheets of the borrowed bed, and from his vantage point in the loft he could see Aidan as she stepped into the living room. Under her arm was a laundry basket filled with his cleaned clothes, and on top of it balanced an aluminum wrapped cylinder – the contents of which he could only guess.

“Rise and shine, cowboy,” Aidan said, looking up at him with her hip cocked and a bemused expression twinkling in the dark of her eyes – what he could see of them, at least, in the darkened house. “It’s time to get goin’. Less you wanna be late your first day.”

The clock on the nightstand said it was four thirty in the morning. He wasn’t impressed.

“Might wanna go ahead and bring those clothes up here to me so I can get dressed, less you want an eyeful,” he said. Aidan shrugged but took his advice, climbing the stairs two steps at a time until she stood at the foot of his bed to slap the basket down on the mattress.

“Brought you some breakfast to-go,” she said, motioning towards the aluminum bundle. “Breakfast burrito. Eggs, bacon, cheese, enough protein to get you through the morning till lunch.”

“Is that somethin’ I should get used to?” McCree asked, keeping his sheets bunched around his waist.

“If I like how you work then maybe,” she said as she turned and headed back to the stares, mechanical heels clacking with each step. “Now hurry up and hop up in the truck when you’re done. I gotta get a horse to like you.”

“Am I gonna need one?” Jesse asked, daring to stand but not daring enough to abandon a blanket totally. No need to flash the poor woman who was putting him up.

“Less you wanna walk a few miles more, you’re gonna want one. Can’t use trucks, cause they scare the cows, and the ranch is big – too big to do the bulk on foot.”

As she finished speaking she hit the front door and slid out into the pale night, and he could see the glint of her keys as she spun them around her finger. McCree finally let the sheets drop away and began pulling his clothes from the hamper. Seemed like she’d gone ahead and washed everything in his duffle, too. He was surprised she was doing as much as she was, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Within a few minutes he was dressed, not bothering to disguise himself as he had the day before – no need, if there were as few people around as Hart had suggested. It felt good to be wrapped in his serape again, to let the mechanics of his forearm breathe. He’d always hated wearing gloves and wrapping it up – only made the prosthetic feel less real, if that made any sense at all. He slid his belt buckle back into place, fingers brushing fondly over the embossed letters, and all trussed up for work he grabbed the burrito and unwrapped one end before taking a bite. He chewed as he headed downstairs, holster slapping against his thigh with each step, and the truck was on and waiting by the time he shut and locked the door behind him.

“It’s just a quick drive over to the stables,” Aidan said as he pulled open the passenger door and hefted himself into the seat. The truck rocked slightly as it adjusted to the additional weight, and the moment the door was closed she had put the car into gear and started off to the east, where the sun wasn’t yet high enough to be seen over the horizon. He took another bite of his breakfast and the duo sat in silence, the only sound the rumbling of the motor and the rush of wind against the cars hull.

Within moments the stable came into view, tall but not so tall as the barn had been, and more carefully cared for if the aesthetics spoke of anything. Aidan parked and hopped out of the truck in a fluid motion and McCree wasn’t far behind, shoving the last bit of breakfast into his mouth and balling up the aluminum in his fist. They passed a trashcan as they entered the large barn doors, and he tossed it in with one easy shot.

“Only horse big enough for a man your size’ll be Andromeda,” Aidan said, guiding him down the short hall to the very back, where a corner stall waited for them.

“Andromeda?” McCree asked, brow quirking. “Like the galaxy?”

“It is,” she agreed. “You’ll see why.”

Even before she opened the stall door McCree could see that the horse in question was big – bigger than McCree usually saw. The door swung open and Aidan walked in like it was nothing, even if the horse could have easily squashed her if it were in a bad mood. But she was right – he could see why she’d chosen such a celestial name. The horse itself was midnight black, its feet stocking white, but the white didn’t stop there. Small white speckles dotted along the horses flank, breaking up the dark hair at random intervals, and there was no dot bigger than a dime save for the star on her forehead. The horse looked like the sky, dotted with constellations, and was big enough to where it was just as intimidating.

“She’s a shire horse, 'bout five years old. She’s strong, will get you through the work. If she takes to you, then you’re gonna be the one in charge of gettin’ her out each morning and puttin’ her away each night. Anything bad happens and it’s on your head, understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” he agreed.

“You know anything bout takin’ care of horses?” she asked.

McCree knew a thing or two – but he figured he was safer asking for a refresher course. Sure, he didn’t doubt he could escape if Aidan got angry, but she looked like the kind of woman who’d have no problem blasting him with a shotgun if she felt the need to. He knew people like that. Didn’t want to get on their bad sides, either. “Why don’t you remind me, just to be safe?”

Instead of responding verbally, Aidan got to work, silent as the grave as she slipped a simple rope halter along the horses neck and jaw and tied her to a lead. She then carefully brushed away the dirt and hay that had collected along the horses back and left the coat shiny in its wake. McCree watched as she tossed a red patterned blanket over the horses back, smoothed it out with surprisingly gentle hands, and gave a final glance towards the horses face before moving away. She lifted a dark saddle from it’s hook on the wall without any effort – even if the thing must have weighed about twenty pounds – and went to work of setting it gingerly along the horses back.

Andromeda whipped her tail, bobbed her head, but otherwise made no sign of complaining as Aidan checked and double checked to make certain that everything was settled properly before cinching the saddle into place. McCree knew that he should have been watching her hands, but his gaze kept shifting back to her face – to the simple concentration that shone in her eyes and the relaxed set of her face. He’d thought she’d simply been someone to suffer from resting bitch face, as it was often called, but he realized here that there was no dissatisfaction lingering in the turn of her lips or the corners of her eyes. She looked as calm as anything – serene, almost.

That just brought to question why she looked so pissy every other moment of her life.

With all the cinching and saddling done Aidan stepped back and nodded to him. “There you are. Think you can manage that yourself? Or are we gonna have to schedule lessons?”

She sounded like she was teasing him – but damn if he couldn’t rightly tell.

“I think I can,” he agreed.

She nodded and pulled back, giving Andromeda an affectionate pat. “Then I’ll leave you to get to know her while I saddle up Bucky. Shouldn’t take more than a minute. Go ahead and get on and wait outside for me.”

Without much else to say she left, abandoning him to the stall and the large horse within it. Andromeda seemed unbothered – disinterested – and McCree looked her over curiously. So this was to be his so called trusty steed. He’d not ridden a horse properly in years. It was a bit of a flashback for him.

He untied her, taking the reigns in hand and looping them around the saddle horn, before hefting himself up and settling himself into place. Andromeda shifted slightly, head tossing as she adjusted to the weight, but she didn’t protest or buck and just settled back into place.

“Well, that coulda gone a lot worse,” McCree mumbled as he nudged her hindquarters and coaxed her out of the stall and into the hall. Another door along the hall was open now, and from his vantage point he could easily see Aidan’s back as she worked on saddling up a dapple mare. That same serene expression had taken over her face, and McCree was forced to pull his gaze away as Andromeda took them out of the stables.

Over the horizon he could finally see the barest glance of orange and yellow, staining the sky and finally marking it as morning. He tugged the reigns, pulling Andromeda to a stop, and waited there watching as the sun slowly began to rise up into the sky. After a few minutes had passed he could hear the clopping of hooves, and Aidan passed into his peripherals.

“Your herd is this way,” she said, moving past him. “Cows 1 to 500. We rotate ‘em through the fields about three times a day. You seem like the type a guy who learns quick, so I’ll show you the ropes, and then leave you to it. We’re gonna have to start taking down the hay equipment soon, so we’ll probably put you on that detail.” She glanced over to him. “Man with your muscles shouldn’t have any problem with that, yeah?”

“I’ve dealt with worse than hard labor,” he said.

When she flashed a grin and that gleam returned to her eyes, the one that made her look softer. “I don’t doubt it.”

True to her word, Aidan had worked him hard that first day. Labor was nothing to him, and he easily kept up, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t dead beat tired by the time five o’clock came around and he was let off the clock. Aidan had stuck with him through the day, barking instructions whenever it was needed, but for the most part the work was all about finding a routine that worked. By the end Aidan had taken to just watching him work, settled on top of her dapple mare as if she had all the time in the world.

Truthfully, he couldn’t tell if she was really satisfied with his work or not. She gave him grins, and brief murmurs of encouragement when he was close enough to hear them, but other than that she was as difficult to read as ever. He figured if she was angry though, it wouldn’t be so hard to guess. He still remembered the fire in her gaze when she’d frozen Coulson and himself to the spot for even thinking of fighting in the saloon.

Sunset was well on its way when he stepped from the shower, steam and water dotting his skin and dripping from the ends of his hair. He stepped out into the loft, towel around his waist, and paused when he saw Aidan sitting at the edge of his bed like she owned the place.

Well, she did. But he didn’t expect her to be there, was the point.

“If you want dinner, I’ve got a meal in the oven right now,” she said, glancing back at him. Her gaze zeroed in on his face, but he could have sworn he’d seen a flush to her cheeks. “Figure after a day like that you deserved some food.”

“Give me some time to get dressed and I’ll be right over,” he said.

Aidan stood, and it wasn’t very polite – which was fine cause he wasn’t very polite – but he let his gaze move slowly down her back to settle on the curve of her behind – and what a nice one it was. Especially wrapped in denim.

“I’ll wait down in the truck for you, if you want,” she offered as she once more headed down the stairs.

“I’ll be there in a second,” he agreed, watching her ass with admiration as she descended. Once the door was closed and she was out in the truck, he gave a low whistle. Shame she was married.

Jesse dressed again in his spare clothes and after a moments thought gathered up the borrowed clothes of her husbands, imagining he might want them back. He stepped outside and again pulled himself into the truck, and Aidan gave the bundle a curious glance as she backed up. “Figured you might want these back,” he explained.

“You figured right. Don’t really do me any good, personally. Can’t fit in them.”

He’d seen glimpses of her humor before, but it still gave him a small snort of surprise. McCree had only met a small handful of people that were serious all the time, and even then he’d been able to pull some humor out of them. He’d have been more surprised if Aidan was as emotionless as a rock. He couldn’t help but wonder, though, if it was out of personal preference that she acted so gruff, or if it was something else. It was like she’d walled herself up and only dared to let a glimmer of personality shine through when she was certain that letting down her guard wasn’t going to result in getting a bullet between the eyes.

As promised, the house smelled of food when he stepped through the front door. Aidan walked off to the kitchen and after a moment of awkward wavering McCree simply moved past to deposit the clothes into the laundry room she’d shown him. When he slipped his way into the kitchen she was pulling a casserole from the oven and slapping the glass dish on a heating pad at the center of the table. “You want anything to drink?”

“Got any whiskey?” McCree asked.

Aidan used her foot to shut the oven before tossing the protective gloves down on the countertop and pulling open the pantry door. She disappeared for a moment and came back with a bottle of Jack, half full. “Go ahead and take a seat,” she said. “No use standin’ and waitin’.”

The chair gave a small creak of protest as he took a seat, and even though part of him wanted to go ahead and dish up half of the meal for himself he waited, watching as Aidan poured the amber liquid into two glasses, golden brown filling in the spaces between the frosted ice. She returned and sat one in front of him before taking a seat beside him, chair pulled out at a haphazard angle, and taking a swig of her own. The ice clinked in the glass as she sat her drink back down and she motioned towards the dish. “Go ahead and serve yourself up. Figure you need to eat a bit more than I do. You’re about three times my size.”

“’Appreciate all you’re doin’ for me,” McCree said as he reached out to dip the large serving spoon into the layers of cheesy casserole. Looked like chicken and rice. He glanced around the table as the food plopped onto his plate, and then offered her the spoon. “Your husband not joinin’ us?”

“He’s away for the month on business,” Aidan said, and that same closed off expression came to her face – the purse of her lips, the dark discontent in her eyes. McCree was starting to wonder if there was something he was missing out on. Maybe it was a not-so-happy home after all. “So it’s just us.”

“Shame he’s missin’ out on a home cooked meal,” he observed, unafraid of the heat that wafted up from the meal even as he forked a piece of the burning food and shoveled it into his mouth. It was hot, but McCree barely flinched – hungry as he was, waiting seemed closer to dying.

“He’ll figure out somethin’ to eat I’m sure,” Aidan said, taking her time and allowing the casserole time to cool before daring to endanger her mouth. Despite the fact that her body language was casual, slumped and relaxed in her chair, there was still some element of discomfort to her – a tenseness to her voice, a downturn of her lips – and so McCree opted to leave the subject of her husband alone. No use prying if it meant upsetting the woman that was housing and feeding him.

“So, you mentioned your brother owned the saloon in town,” he said, gaze sliding over to watch her as she ate. “What were you doin’ there, dressed up like you were?”

“I work there on Mondays,” she said. “The extra money helps around the farm. Usually we make enough cash to get by, sellin’ hay and pairs when the time comes, but the fall months are always a little rocky. I take up extra work to make ends meet.”

“Mighty nice of your brother to offer you a job like that,” he observed.

“Dan’s a good guy, real family oriented. Moved up here when I got married so I would be alone – met his wife here, too. Now they’ve got a family and everythin’. Not much he wouldn’t do if it meant keepin’ his family safe.”

McCree didn’t know if it was years of working with Blackwatch or his own hyper-awareness of things, but choosing the word ‘safe’ seemed like an odd choice; especially if safe included letting his sister work in a saloon with customers like the late Coulson that had no problem using their fists to get messages through.

“How long’ve you been married?” McCree asked.

“Fifteen years,” she said, and for a moment McCree was stumped. How young had she been when she got married? Was she actually older than him? She seemed to notice the brief expression of confusion on his face, and her lips turned up into a small smile – but this one wasn’t the same as the one that she’d given him that morning and the night before. There was a sadness behind it. “I was 18 years old. Just turned 33 last March.”

“Teenage sweethearts?” he asked, taking another bite and keeping his head down – even though he focused his gaze in on her face, reading it as best he could with the limited grasp he had on her expressions. Her lips twisted, and her gaze lowered to her plate.

“Somethin’ like that, yeah.”

Sensitive subjects weren’t a foreign concept to McCree. Instead of pushing he went quiet, focusing on shoveling casserole as politely as he could into his mouth. For her part, Aidan didn’t seem to rally against the silence – she just ate, reclined and casual, small pieces of chicken pressed between her lips as her gaze turned unfocused and her mind travelled somewhere else.

McCree knew sensitive subjects. But he was also starting to think that maybe this was one he should look into a little more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for everyone who's stopped by and given this fic a look - I know it's a bit of a niche audience who'd be interested in it, so every view counts.
> 
> Fair warning though: I don't think this fic is gonna end in a way you might expect it to. Only way I'll really explain that is the fic is intended to be canon compliant, so you can take that as you want. I'm really just hopin' to take this to a place that feels unique.
> 
> As always - comments, recommendations, constructive criticism is always welcome. Thanks for takin' the time.


	4. To Be Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things can't always be easy, and McCree is faced with a moral dilemma.

_All I've ever done is hide_  
_From our times when you're near me_  
_Honey, when you kill the lights, and kiss my eyes_  
_I feel like a person for a moment of my life_

 

Days passed, and before McCree knew it he’d been on the farm for about two weeks and found himself settling into a real easy lifestyle that he could get used to. He woke up every morning at about 4 AM to the sound of his alarm and the slamming of the screen door. He was greeted by Aidan, usually with a crooked grin on her face as she brought in a basket of his clean laundry and a breakfast burrito that seemed to increase in size with every passing day. After the first week she’d left him to do his rounds on his own, but some days they switched and she covered the herd while he dealt with the heavy labor of storing the tractors and equipment away until it was time to start harvesting hay all over again.

Life here was quiet. McCree never had a reason to leave the farm, and if he ever needed anything Aidan would just take the money from his paycheck and go into town to get it for him or place an order. No one had looked twice at the farm, though he saw stories about people hunting for him on the news. He didn’t know if Aidan was careful or if it was dumb luck, but he’d not met anyone else that worked the farm. Even Matt, the vet, was a degree of separation from him. Whenever one of his cows looked a little worse for wear Aidan was the one to go bring them to Matt – McCree never had to interact with him.

In all honesty, McCree thought he preferred it that way. It was easier to keep to himself. It meant Blackwatch wasn’t going to come snooping after him – it meant that no one was going to bother him about joining back up just to watch it all fall apart, no one was going to pin murders on him regardless of whether he’d done it to help the greater good or not.

For the first time since he’d started work at Hart Ranch and Saddle Company (or the HRSC, as he liked to abbreviate it) he’d been given a day off. There was no 4 AM alarm, no banging of the screen door, no breakfast burrito. To his surprise, he missed it. He woke around six o’clock, unable to sleep much later than that anymore after waking up ungodly early every other day of his life. He rose, sheets falling away from him and balling up in a mess half on the floor and half on the bed. He ran his hands through his hair as he made his way into the bathroom to relieve himself while he debated whether or not he wanted to shower, or just let the mess accumulate further.

In the end he wound up showering before emerging and dressing himself, red serape abandoned to stave off the autumnal heat that was starting to become a nuisance. He’d opted for a pair of longer sleeves to help keep the sun gentle on his skin, and when he realized he had absolutely nothing better to do, he found himself exiting the guest home and setting course down the dirt path that marked the way back to Aidan’s house. Maybe he could convince her with enough p’s and q’s and a handsome smile to make him a breakfast burrito regardless.

He moved up to the front door and opened it with a careful press of his hand. From what he could see of the kitchen he could see Aidan bustling around, her hair tied back in a knot while thin tendrils snaked along her neck. She was cooking something, though what McCree couldn’t tell – and he hadn’t much reason to care, when it smelled as good as it did. Aidan glanced up from her pan as the floorboard creaked under foot and flashed him one of her crooked grins. “Sleep schedule keep you from sleepin’ in?” she called.

“Don’t think I could sleep till eight if I tried,” he agreed, slipping his hands into his pockets and crossing the great room to meet her by the stove. “Any chance there’s gonna be enough for me to have some?”

“There might be,” she agreed. “Lucky for you I was plannin’ on bringing a plate over for you anyways. Go ahead and take a seat if you like – it’ll be done before long.”

“Sure you don’t need my help?” McCree asked. “Might not be much of a chef on my own, but I can do what I’m told pretty well.”

“Well color me surprised,” she said, sending him a playful glance. “You’re fine. Just go ahead and relax.”

McCree didn’t push and took a seat at the table, chair turned so he could watch her as she pushed what looked to be a large batch of scrambled eggs around the pan. Something smelled sweet though – something that definitely wasn’t eggs – and he glanced down curiously at the oven under the stove. “You’re gonna spoil me, with all this food,” he commented, gaze moving back up to hers – but not before taking an instant to admire the back of her. Sometimes looking was hard to avoid.

“I could always stop,” she said, dumping the eggs out into a dish before turning to place them at the table. In the same pan she began laying out large strips of bacon, which sizzled and popped invitingly. McCree felt his stomach give an excited rumble at the prospect of her food. She’d been cooking enough for the both of them while he was here, offering him a plate to either eat alongside her or take back to the guest house after work, and he was getting accustomed to her hospitality.

“If you did that, I might just cry.”

Aidan was a gruff woman – stubborn and born from the dirt and rust that raised her. McCree knew women like her, had gotten along with them too, but there was something about the steel that masqueraded as her spine that was unlike what he was used to. There was pride in the way she walked, the way she worked. There was stubbornness in her eyes, sternness in the slight frown of her lips. Then sometimes she would laugh, and he would wonder if it was the same woman at all; her eyes lit up like the sky on the fourth of July, her head thrown back as she allowed her good humor to consume every pore of her body. He’d only seen her laugh like that once, when a rowdy calf had nearly upended him, and the humiliation might have even been worth it to see that new side of her. He hoped that he’d be able to see it again.

Now, McCree realized fully that he was toeing a dangerous line; she was a married woman and he was a wanted outlaw. But he figured his thoughts couldn’t harm anyone, so long as the actions that idly flitted through those thoughts didn’t actualize themselves.

The bacon was sat on the table next, and his gaze followed her as she bent over to pull whatever that sweet smelling thing was from the oven. He caught sight of a Bundt pan, and the smell of sugar filled the room as she upturned it onto a plate and gave it a good whack to loosen whatever was inside. What came out was a patchwork cake of some sort, square doughy globs sparkling from sugar and the gooey glaze that slid between the cracks. She turned and sat that on the table as well, catching his curious look.

“Monkey bread,” she explained. “A family specialty, if you have a bit of a sweet tooth.”

“And there you go, spoilin’ me all over again,” McCree said, picking up his fork and moving straight in for the bread. Aidan stabbed her fork in one end to help keep him from accidentally slopping half the cake on his plate, and after he got a fair sized portion he spooned himself up some eggs and snatched up a few slices of bacon. Aidan took a seat, plate more modestly filled than his was, and resumed her casual posture that consumed almost every action in her life. McCree tried a bite of the bread and was pleased to find it wasn’t overwhelmingly sweet – there was an underlying savory flavor that kept the balance well, and he made a small noise of appreciation. “Course, I don’t really think I mind being spoiled like this.”

Aidan smiled slightly, taking a small bite of her own. “Keep praisin’ me like that and I might be hard pressed to ever let you leave.”

“Well you make it real hard for a man to wanna leave,” he said. His gaze lifted and met hers, and belatedly he realized the way the phrase had sounded. Evidently she was just as aware of it as he was, if the sudden pink hue to her cheeks said anything at all. Her gaze darted down to the food and she focused her attention on eating, but despite her inattention he could see the subtle turn to her lips. Clearly, appropriate or not, she’d liked hearing him say it.

It’d been a while since McCree had taken an interest in someone – and he meant a sincere interest, beyond the simple ‘interest’ that came with a pair of shapely legs and a pretty face. He wasn't quite sure that was what this was, but he respected her an awful lot. That had to count for something.

They ate in silence, McCree thinking idly about his intentions and whether or not they still construed as honorable. He believed, at least in more recent years, that he was an honorable man; that was a goal, at least, that he held himself to. Sure, he was still a gun for hire in the most basic of terms (even if, at the moment, he was just a stable hand). But he was an honorable one. He wouldn’t take just any mission that flew in out the blue. The real crux of the matter though, was whether or not he would still be an honorable man if he considered testing his luck and finding out whether Mrs. Hart would be willing to spend some nights between the sheets with him.

The answer was a definitive no – but that didn’t keep him from trying to justify it to himself.

“Looks like you enjoyed yourself,” Aidan observed, finally breaking the silence as she eyed his near empty plate.

“I enjoy everythin’ you make, so this shouldn’t be a surprise,” he said.

As he took the last bite of monkey bread, which he had painstakingly saved for last, Aidan stood and reached to take his plate. McCree caught her hand with his. “Let me,” he said as he stood, letting his fingers linger for an instant longer against her skin before he released her and took up all the empty plates – and making the bacon plate empty by sticking the last piece between his teeth.

“You don’t gotta do that,” Aidan protested.

“Don’t gotta do a lot of things, but I do ‘em anyway,” he said around the strip, taking the plates over to the sink and depositing them before flicking on the faucet. He paused, quickly finishing off the bacon in a series of quick crunches. “You’ve done more than enough for me this past week. It’s high time I pay you back somehow.”

Based on the huff she gave, she didn’t agree, but at the least she didn’t try to argue with him. He heard her move around and start scraping leftovers into Tupperware containers and sticking them in the fridge. She sidled up beside him, bumping her hip against his to nudge him to the side as she moved to start helping. McCree gave a low chuckle. “Woman – let me do somethin’ for you for once. Can’t even let me do the damn dishes.”

“Stop whining and start scrubbing,” she said, tossing him a scrub as she stole the plates from him and began rinsing them off under the stream. “Can’t make me stop doin’ work in my own house. That’s like askin’ a chicken to stop layin’ eggs. It just ain’t gonna happen.”

He chuckled under his breath but obliged despite his protests. Besides – there was something nice about having her standing so close to him, even if it was just for the sake of work.

They worked silently, McCree laying out clean dishes on a dry towel while she passed him another to take care of. They made quick work of it, though the plates redirected the water onto the floor in a few places. McCree shifted, prepared to grab a towel from the drawer to clean that up as well, and as he moved Aidan took a step to reach up for some paper towels. The step brought her foot right into a puddle, and with a small sound she slipped. Acting on instinct, McCree reached out and slipped his mechanical arm around her waist to keep her from falling – and in turn brought her body flush against his. She was close enough that he could feel the hummingbird-fast beat of her heart against her chest, and her pale fingers had twisted themselves in his shirt as she tried to slow her breathing.

It was inappropriate, and he knew it, but he allowed his gaze to slip down along the slope of her throat and the swell of her breasts, cleavage even more pronounced from the way they pressed to his chest. His gaze darted up to meet hers, praying she hadn’t noticed, but she was looking at him with wide-eyes that told him all that he needed to know.

“My apologies,” he murmured, feeling a small stir of shame for having openly ogled her.

For an instant her grip tightened in his shirt, even as he made to loose his grip around her, but what came next struck him to the spot. Aidan’s hands moved, slipping up into his hair and pulling him down so that as she got on her tiptoes their lips met. He was frozen in surprise while her lips moved against his, soft desperation emphasizing every slip and every brush of breath against him.

He should pull away – he should stop this. But despite all the honor he liked to imagine he had, he was a man, and it didn’t stop him from slipping his arm more firmly around her middle and kissing her back.

Aidan kissed with a passion that he strove to meet, unwilling to disappoint when the way she gripped at him painted the picture of a woman starved. He pulled her lower lip between his teeth, sucking at the velvet skin and she opened herself to him eagerly. Her tongue pressed to the seam of his mouth and he parted for her, let their tongues press together and explore each other for the first time.

Each brush of lips and tongue had her mewling for him, soft sounds peppering the air around them as she gripped harder at his hair, pulling with no small amount of desperation as if she could possibly bring him closer to her despite the fact that there was no space between them for him to invade further. McCree dropped his hands to her hips and down, resting them against the ass that had been taunting him for days and using the grip there to haul her hips flush against his.

“Jesse,” she panted against him, wanton desire dripping from her lips. They separated, breath mingling as they fought to steady themselves, and the way she looked up at him through heavy-hooded eyes only had a shock of lust burning in him.

“That’s one way to accept an apology,” he murmured amusedly. Her lips curled up in a subtle smile and her hands slipped from his hair to press to the back of his neck.

In the next instant however the expression faded, and one of guilt took its place. She went down from her tiptoes and let her fingers drop to rest on his chest so that she could gently push him back from her. He cursed himself for having spoken even as he allowed the requested space and pulled his hands away from her body to let her step back from him entirely.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, curling her arms around herself. “I shouldn’ta done that.”

“To be fair, I didn’t try to stop you,” he said. She shook her head and looked away from him, chewing at her lip as her eyes darted around the counter, looking for what he had no idea.

“I gotta go to the store,” she said, pulling back and disengaging in an instant. McCree didn’t try and chase her, didn’t try to talk about it – even if there was an itch in the back of his mind that told him to chase down whatever information he could so he'd understand what was happening. But his mama (bless her soul) had taught him better than that, so all he did was nod. She continued, busying her hands with a towel that she used to dry the counter tops. “You need anything?”

“No ma’am,” he said. Aidan nodded. McCree decided to take himself out of the situation. He pulled away, slipping one hand into his pocket as the other tipped his hat lower over his eyes, and he said, “If you don’t mind, I’m gonna go ahead and head back. Been a while since I took proper care of my gun, and now that I got the time-“

Trailing off, he realized that she was only half listening. Aidan was in a frenzy, moving almost haphazardly as she tucked away things back in her proper place. Though she hummed as if she were listening, he knew what distracted looked like. McCree gave a soft sigh, guilt churning slightly in his stomach – somethin’ he wasn’t entirely used to feeling – and he nodded. “See you around.”

The heat of the Santa Fe sun plastered his shirt to his skin and had sweat beading along the back of his neck, but he made his way back to the guest house in one piece. A piece in need of another shower, but that could wait. No use getting clean if he was just gonna dirty himself back up again later.

As the screen door slammed shut behind him he was struck with the knowledge that he had no idea what to do with himself now that he wasn’t working all day and now that he’d made a right mess of his friendship with Aidan. Tired fingers scrubbed through his hair and down his face before he gave a heavy sigh and trudged upstairs. The way he figured he was gonna have to pray that Aidan chose to ignore their little discretion, or he was going to have to start looking for a new place to crash. Which was a right shame. He’d grown fond of the guest house, of Andromeda, of the breakfast burritos and the friendly jibes. It was good, hard work. It kept a man from letting his thoughts get too dangerous. They always said that idle hands were the devil’s playthings, and looking back on his life, he knew that wasn’t too far from the truth.

And yet – and McCree wasn’t too fond of this part of himself – he wasn’t totally content. Home life had never suited him. It was why he’d run off so young, why he’d landed his ass in the Deadlock gang and later on in Blackwatch. He wasn’t a good, home-born man. He was a killer. Sure, a killer that’d switched his focus to helping just causes, but let’s be fair and call a spade a spade.

Foreign and long-dead guilt clawed its way up is throat and he cursed under his breath. He could tell himself that staying here was a good idea – that he was doing good work – but he knew that given enough time that guilt would become a permanent fixture in his life.


	5. From Eden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things between Aidan and McCree come to a head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is NSFW content in this chapter - let me know if you think the rating needs to be adjusted accordingly, and I will.

_To the strand a picnic plan for you and me_   
_A rope in hand for your other man to hang from a tree_   
_Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago_   
_Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword_   
_Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know_   
_I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door_

 

There was no mention of what had happened. When his next day off came he set up cans along the fence and had some firing practice to help deal with some of his frustrations. He wasn’t in the right for hoping just maybe Aidan would turn her gaze his way again – but right and wrong was a blurry line he couldn’t really proclaim himself an expert on. But it’d been three weeks – three weeks of nothing but the same – and it was starting to get under his skin. Sometimes he thought she looked like she might say something, that the way her gaze lingered meant she would finally decide to go down that sticky path, but it’d never happened.

Now McCree busied himself with his peacekeeper, painstakingly clearing every lingering patch of grime from its frame. It was mindless care, second nature to the cowboy after so many years, and though there was never much grime to clean off with how often he tended to it, it was something to do. It was instinctive. It was busy work. It kept his mind off of Aidan fucking Hart.

Truthfully, he hadn’t come to any sort of decision regarding what he was going to do about everything. His instincts said leave. But that damn thing he called a heart told him that he should linger, told him that there was something in that big empty house he was missing. Told him that if he left, he would never have any closure at all. Everything about everything pointed to some dark secrets – or maybe he was just paranoid. Maybe Blackwatch made him see the worst in people. Damn if he couldn’t tell one way or another.

The bore brush slid effortlessly through the chamber, turning with the engravings within the barrel, and the silence was broken by the sound of the front door opening and the screen door clapping against the frame. Softer than usual, but he knew that familiar click of heels on wood. He didn’t look up as he threaded a cloth through and began cleaning out the remaining solvent until the shine on his gun was from the light and not from the grease. The footsteps stopped at the head of the steps, and though he should have kept his gaze focused on his work he couldn’t help himself.

He looked up and Aidan was there, arms wrapped around her middle and looking mighty small in comparison to her normal aura. It made the guilt claw at him all over again. “Need somethin’?” he asked, clicking the cylinder into place and giving it an experimental spin. Not even the slightest hitch. He placed his peacekeeper on the nightstand and began gathering up his kit.

“I’ve never been real fond of talkin’, but I thought it might be best if we spoke,” she said. “Left a lotta things unsaid. Doesn’t sit right to just pretend nothin’ happened.”

“Thought it might be easier to do that,” he said – not unkindly. He latched the kit shut and set it under the stand. “Don’t wanna cause no problems between you and your husband. You’ve done me a favor. A favor I don’t fully think I deserve. Not very gentlemanly of me to repay that by gettin’ in the way.”

“If you would remember, Jesse, I’m the one that kissed you,” she pointed out in a solemn voice. He finally looked to her and wondered if that was guilt that made her sound so damn gloomy. For all his theories, they were only theories – he didn’t know half the truth about what was going on with her, or her marriage, or her brother, or her ranch. Maybe he was just projecting his own distrust into places where it didn’t need to be. Maybe Reyes’ impact on him had been deeper than he’d thought. Maybe you never really left Blackwatch after all.

“Don’t mean I shouldn’t have kissed you back,” he said. “Good man woulda stopped sooner.”

“Maybe I don’t need a good man,” she said, and her gaze lifted from her feet.

This was dangerous water. McCree had spent years in it – could recognize it without hesitation – but he wasn’t sure what sort of danger he was wading into. He just knew that Aidan was looking at him with a dark and heady gaze, as if she were staring straight through his soul and burning him at the stake. He swallowed and opted for humor, a careless grin curling his lips. “Everybody needs a good man,” he said. “Well – everyone interested in ‘em that way. Not much you can do with a bad man side put ‘em down when they go rabid.”

She stepped towards him and he should have gotten out of the way, but instead he let her approach. He let her reach out and run her fingers along his cheek. “Is that what you think should happen to you?” she asked.

“It’d save the world a lot of trouble if it did happen,” he shrugged casually. “Better people’ll step up to take up where I left off cleanin’ the streets. Might be better if they did. Not doin’ a real good job of it, lately.”

“Maybe you just need to narrow down your scope a little.” Her voice was soft and gentle – as coaxing as her fingers against his face. McCree felt warm, heat originating in his chest and suffusing through his body, and when she moved again he was helpless to stop the way her lips pressed so tenderly against his.

It was different this time. There wasn’t any of the desperation, the sudden spark of desire. Aidan’s lips moved against his with the care of a stream rushing around him; she pressed her body flush to his and silently begged him to take her closer, and he did because he had no better idea of what to do – because he had no good bone in his body left to protest the lips of another man’s wife.

She tasted sweet, like honey and cinnamon, and when her lips parted for him he couldn’t help but try to taste more of her. His tongue swept across her lips and pressed to hers, pulling little sounds from the back of her throat as she yielded to him without hesitation. When he splayed her out on the bed she just let her hands run along his body. Each trace of her fingers had him trembling, and when his mouth pulled from hers it was to kiss down the pale line of her throat and suck a litany of marks around her pulse. She panted prettily under him, body rolling up against his while her fingers curled daintily in his hair.

Desire was like a runaway train rushing through both of them, removing every sense of right and wrong and leaving them only with the disastrously perfect slide of skin against skin. He dragged her shirt over her body and she reached around to remove her bra, revealing the soft skin of her breasts and pale pink of puffy nipples that begged for his mouth. He couldn’t deny himself – not now – and so he dipped to drag his tongue over and around the tightened skin. Adrian panted, dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she arched into his mouth.

As his lips occupied themselves his hands pulled at her pants, tugging them down over her hips until he was forced to pull away from her. The sight of her alone was almost enough to undo him from the very seams. Her dark hair was spread out across the pillows, her cheeks flushed pink as her dark eyes watched him through heavy lids. When she noted his gaze she lifted her hand to drag dainty fingertips along her breasts, to pluck cleverly at her nipples, and McCree groaned. “God, but if you aren’t the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmured as he dipped to kiss her. She giggled – an honest to god giggle, a sound he’d never imagined hearing from a woman like Aidan – and opened her lips to his all over again.

The distraction lasted for several minutes but eventually the tightness of his jeans and the way her hips rocked forced him to try again – this time with more success. The moment her panties were tossed aside his hands were there, slipping between supple thighs to trace the heat of her. She cried out, breath quickening to soft pants as she rocked eagerly against him.

“How long has it been since you’ve been touched properly?” he murmured.

“Too long,” she whimpered. “God, Jesse, please – please.”

“Shhh,” he hushed softly, pressing his lips gingerly to hers. “Let me take care of you.”

She was babbling as if she didn’t even know what she wanted, and all Jesse could do was touch her – to drag that pleasure closer and closer to the surface until her hips thrashed desperately as she rode his fingers. Her own hands were wild and untamed, refusing to still as they switched between clutching at his shoulders and grabbing her own breasts. “Pretty as a picture,” he purred again, and the praise had her quaking as her restraint snapped. She cried out for him in a high and delicate voice, her hips shuddering as her body clamped around his fingers, and it was while she writhed that Jesse finally made work to remove his own clothing. When his pants were gone and tossed aside she was stilled, watching him with pleasure-blown eyes.

“Fuck me,” she breathed.

Jesse obliged.

Time passed quickly, and when they were both worn and exhausted they were left curled around each other, tangled up in the sheets as they panted against each other’s skin. Aidan was petting him, fingers running through his hair and down along his chest to tease the downy hair that darkened his already dark skin, and when her gaze finally met his it was accompanied with a lazy smile of contentment – like a cat that’d got the cream.

“See?” she breathed, voice a whisper between their breaths. “Nothin’ too bad about bein’ a bad man.”

McCree knew it was meant to cheer him, and so he laughed – but it did nothing for the churning sickness in his gut.

They lounged together, basking in the afterglows of their mutual pleasures, but even as McCree’s faded quickly to lingering uncertainty Aidan’s mood never seemed to falter. She hummed soft songs against his skin, kissed his neck and chest, until finally forcing herself to pull back from him. Despite his own concerns he couldn’t help the way his gaze swept along her body, lingering on the ass that looked just as good out of jeans as they had in them. When she noticed she smiled, gave her hips a playful little wiggle, and Jesse considered despite it all that maybe he should just pull her back into bed for another ride.

“Mind if I use your shower?” she asked as she gathered up her clothes. “I gotta get down to the saloon before noon. It’ll save me a little time.”

“Feel free,” he said. “It’s your shower, technically speaking.”

Aidan grinned, but disappeared behind the door. The sound of the shower cut through the silence, but did nothing to help with the lingering of his thoughts. Slowly he ran his hand down his face and gave a heavy sigh. He cast his gaze aside and paused when it fell on the mostly ignored desktop downstairs. He hadn’t considered using it – had never really had anything to look for before, when he was being worked to the bone – but now he had incentive.

McCree rose and pulled on his pants before going downstairs and booting the system up. It was old, just shy of out of date, but it’d do for his purposes. He’d learned a thing or two in Blackwatch even if tech wasn’t his area of expertise, and one of those things was research. He pulled up an incognito window, not wanting Aidan to see where his searching took him, and painstakingly directed himself to the database most commonly used by Overwatch researchers. It wasn’t an easy site to get to, and required five different logins, but fortunately for him Morrison never changed anything. Part of getting old, he figured.

The screen greeted him as the strike commander, and he began his search. Within minutes he had answers.

Aidan Hart, formerly Aidan Smith, was 33, as she’d said she was, and her wedding certificate indeed put her at 18 years old. There was no record of a divorce, so it was true that she was still married.

Stubbornly, he shoved down the squirm of guilt.

Her husband was James Hart. He was 40, which made him frown slightly as he did the mental math. Man couldn’t have been any younger than 25 when he’d met Adain. No wonder she’d reacted the way she had when he’d called them teenaged sweethearts. Now, he knew fully that by the time they married Aidan was a legal and consenting adult – but there was something wrong about the idea of a man in his twenties setting his gaze on a little girl. The discomfort squirmed again.

There was nothing on Aidan’s record of concern – a few hospital visits for broken bones, explained away as a casualty of work on the ranch – but when he swapped over the James’ records he found something far more interesting.

“Seems like Mr. Hart likes getting’ in trouble,” he murmured as he scrolled. At least five counts of drunken driving, over ten counts of public drunkenness, and five more counts of aggravated assault. Cleared of all charges, save for the DUI’s.

It told him nothing – not really – but it made the guilt a little less demanding. Why feel guilty for sleeping with another man’s wife when that man was clearly up to no good?

McCree scoffed. As if he was any better.

The shower cut off and McCree was quick to close down and delete the history. He was lounging on the couch, feet up on the coffee table as he watched television, when Aidan resurfaced. She was dressed again, her wet hair held up in a clip, and was headed straight to the door.

“Gotta go finish gettin’ ready,” she said as he watched her. She paused by the couch and leaned over, lips sliding against his with that same softness as before. “Try not to get into too much trouble while I’m gone.”

“I never do,” he said with a crooked grin.

She left, and the grin faded as he tapped out a pattern on his thigh.

Something wasn’t right, but god help him if he didn’t know what it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, let me know what you thought. I'm guessing there is only going to be about 3 more chapters in this before everything gets resolved, so be prepared for that!


	6. Sedated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree makes a choice, but god only knows if it's the right one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this point on is when the tag for abusive relationships becomes a focal point, so tread with caution.

_Something isn't right, babe_  
_I keep catching little words but the meaning's thin_  
 _I'm somewhere outside my life, babe_  
 _I keep scratching but somehow I can't get in_  
 _So we're slaves to any semblance of touch_  
 _Lord we should quit but we love it too much_

 

When he couldn’t find a reason to stop, McCree didn’t. He let Aidan slip into the guest house as dark came, let her body slide into place against his and let her mouth run hot against his skin. He was overwhelmed, overinvested, and sickeningly attached. God, but if only Reyes could see him now. He would have mocked him mercilessly for the sudden displays of weakness – would have scorned him for caring about a woman that was clearly using him – but damn if McCree couldn’t convince himself that she really was.

There was a softness with the way she looked at him, a heat to the way she smiled that convinced him that there was something sincere there. An affection. And damn if McCree hadn’t let himself grow a little fond of Mrs. Hart – to the point where the fact that she was married was like a drug. A dirty little secret kept between the two of them that fueled his desire for her in a way that was downright shameful. McCree could almost hear his mother now as she rolled in her grave.

Weeks passed as they continued their affair, hidden from any eyes that might get close enough to glance. Fortunately for them, not many people came around the ranch. Not when McCree was around. Likely, it was per Aidan’s instructions.

Despite himself he found that talking to Aidan was as easy as it’d ever been, though perhaps not very deep. They brushed the surfaces of each other, dipping deep only when it seemed pertinent to do so, but there was still nothing he could really and truly latch onto.

It didn’t stop him from trying.

He was like a pup strung about after its master, desperate to please and eager to get a treat. For him the treat was her affection – the way she laid with him for hours after their sex had faded into memory, the way gentle fingers would trail along his skin. She did everything right – she made him feel things that he’d rather keep locked away – and for all the gold in the world he couldn’t even fathom what her thoughts were like. What he did know was that he was stuck, strapped to a boulder that was content to roll down hill and over him as it chose.

Things couldn’t always go smoothly, though. McCree knew that. He just wasn’t expecting the change to come so quickly. They’d barely been fucking for a month before the fates threw a wrench into the works. He woke up, the same as ever, showered and dressed and was alarmed when he glanced at the clock and realized it was nearing five in the morning and Aidan hadn’t shown up with breakfast. Troubled and stubborn he slapped his hat down on his head and headed out to investigate, affectionate concern trumping his common sense.

As the house came into view thoughts of breakfast and wheedling a smile out of Aidan faded into the background. There was a new truck in the lot – bigger and fancier than the one he had gotten accustomed to – and the back door was open. Neither were common. A hint of discomfort burrowed in his chest and he made his way to the back, walking slowly and stealthily avoiding the creaky planks that would otherwise give his presence away.

The first thing he saw was Aidan, leaning against the kitchen counter with her arms wrapped around her middle and an uncommonly small aura about her. There was a man in front of her – tall, but not as tall as him, and muscular but not quite as wide. McCree had a bit of an idea of who that was.

They were speaking in low whispers that he couldn’t quite hear, but it didn’t look like a happy conversation. And he couldn’t say he liked the way that Aidan seemed to shrink back against the counter, as if it would swallow her whole and allow her to escape.

McCree didn’t intervene. It wasn’t his place, and he didn’t want to make things worse. If things got worse before he stepped in, well then that was another matter – but he wasn’t going to incite anything. What good would that do, if Aidan’s lover burst in to try and save the day? McCree was a fool, but he wasn’t stupid.

The conversation escalated, and based on posture the man was clearly agitated. The volume never managed to reach a peak that McCree could hear though; the man turned (allowing McCree to catch sight of his face) and skulked down the hall to the other side of the house. His eyes followed his trail, narrowed and hesitant, before switching back over to Aidan. The last thing he expected as to see her crying.

It wasn’t obvious – she was rubbing at her face and it could have easily been something else. But her shoulders were trembling, and when she inhaled the breath shook through her and was louder than any of the words that had been exchanged. McCree frowned and dared to step into the home. His foot creaked as it hit a particularly grumpy plank of wood, and Aidan jumped a mile before pressing her hand to her chest and giving a sharp exhale.

“Shit, Jesse, don’t scare me like that,” she breathed, turning her back to him. “You should go back to the house, get some rest. No use bein’ up this early on a day off, is there?”

Aidan had already thrown herself to work, bustling around the kitchen with a sort of haphazard energy that he’d never seen her with before. McCree stepped further into the room. “’s not my day off. Not unless you changed the schedule.”

She looked at him and blinked slowly before turning her gaze towards the calendar. “Oh,” she said succinctly. She didn’t say anything more. McCree dared to speak.

“When you didn’t show up this mornin’, I was thinkin’ I could bribe you into makin’ me something to eat. But then I caught sight of something a little more interesting.” He approached her, leaning against the counter and forcing her to see him as she fumbled around. Though he knew the answer – had seen their picture plastered on the database so many weeks ago and lingering in the photographs on the walls – he asked anyway: “That your husband?”

“James,” she said with a sniffle that she tried to ignore. “His name is James.”

“Well James looks like he wasn’t a very pleasant guy to be around,” McCree said, a foreign sense of protectiveness bubbling up inside of him. Never did he think that he would wind up feeling protective over Aidan – he’d never thought that he’d need to be, despite all his suspicions. She was tough, could handle herself, and if anything she’d been the one acting as a protective force towards him as she kept the cops and any nosey gazes focused away from the ranch. Beyond that, he knew she carried around all sorts of little gadgets in her jacket pockets, meant to diffuse –

Realization struck as a final clue clicked into place, and with it came a sense of foreboding that made anger rear up in his chest. He’d always wondered why Aidan needed a machine that froze people in their steps. Now it was starting to make sense, well and fully.

“He’s just got a rough job,” Aidan defended, not realizing that his pause had come from a realization. She sniffled again before tearing a paper towel free to blow her nose, the towel getting tossed in the trash as quickly as it’d been torn from the roll, as if she wanted to destroy every evidence of her emotions so they couldn’t be used against her. “No need to hold it against him, or nothin’.”

Despite himself, despite the fact that her husband was in the very house they occupied and he had no right to touch, he did just that. He’d touched her in thousands of different ways over the month, had seen the way her lips parted and the way she prayed whenever she hit the edge. He could hold her just fine. Not like that would be the final straw on the camel’s back. His fingers curled around her elbow and forced her to stop, pulling her close so that she had to meet his gaze. Even still she tried to avoid it, eyes darting around everywhere but his. “Aidan. I know you’re more than capable of takin’ care of yourself – but if I asked you to tell me if there was somethin’ wrong, would you tell me the truth?”

Aidan’s teeth clamped down on her lip, pulling anxiously and leaving her skin dark and pink. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong. Nothin’ you need to worry about.”

“Aidan,” he said, hand shifting to gently catch her chin and angle her face up to his. Her dark eyes met his, wet and weary and scared in a way he didn’t like seeing on her face. “Now you know I think real highly of you. Think I’ve made that clear over the past few weeks. And I owe you a lot. If you tell me that somethin’s gotta be done about somethin’ – no matter what it might be – I need you to know that I’ll help you.”

“I – everythin’s fine, McCree,” she protested softly, hand lifting to wrap thin fingers around his wrist and pull it away from her – but her hand didn’t abandon his. The touch lingered, soft and warm against his pulse. “You’re already in enough trouble as is. No need to go makin’ it worse on account of me. I’m not worth that.”

“Think it’s up to me to determine what’s worth or not,” he murmured.

She pulled away from him and pushed at his chest, forcing him away from her, and god but he didn’t want to admit how much that stung. “Go get to work, McCree. I’ll bring you breakfast later. I’ve got business to take care of here.”

The rejection was upsetting, but McCree refused to linger. It wasn’t his place – not really. Even if he wouldn’t have minded if it was. He tucked his hat lower on his head and nodded. “Alright. You know where I’ll be if you think you need me.”

He slunk from the kitchen to the sound of her puttering about, his gaze on his toes as he trudged stubbornly towards the fields, knowing the walk would be hell but thinking it might be worthwhile if he used to time to think this mess over. Leaving went against every instinct in his body, but what else was he supposed to do? Sit and make it worse? Shit – he was sleeping with a married woman. Had been for weeks. Now her husband was back in town and McCree didn’t think he had any right to step in, but clearly no one else had decided to take a step either. Dejected, he kicked at a stone along the path and watched it skid ahead of him. He had no proof to what he believed save for what looked like a simple argument. That didn’t prove anything other than the fact that James was an asshole.

His hand slipped into his pocket and fiddled with his phone, something he kept for emergencies only and never really used much besides that. Didn’t have a lot of people to call. Now though, he was thinking that might change.

After a long beat he pulled the device free and dialed. The ringing buzzed behind his eyes, staccato and infuriatingly empty, and for a moment he thought that the call might go ignored. But just when he thought to hang up the ring stopped, and a heavily-accented voice answered: “ _McCree_?”

“Genji,” McCree answered. “Long time no see.”

“ _Is everything alright_?” Genji asked immediately. “ _You never call.”_

“Was hopin’ you might be able to do me a favor, unofficially,” he admitted.

A beat. Then: “ _You’re in trouble, aren’t you?”_

“No, not me. Not this time,” he said. “But someone else be, and I suppose you can’t wash all the Overwatch out of me so easy.”

 _“If this is a mission, you would do better to call Commander Morrison, or Reyes,”_ Genji said, and though McCree doubted he was meant to hear it the cyborg muttered under his breath: “ _Not that they can do much_.”

“No, no,” he interrupted quickly. “Hell, I don’t want either of them stickin’ their nose in my business. They got enough to worry about on their own. I want this to stay real quiet like – no official business anywhere.”

Genji was silent for a long moment, and McCree worried the ninja might let him down. Then he sighed and answered, “ _Alright. I will try. What do you need_?”

“Last I heard you had some fancy cameras – meant for subterfuge,” he said. “Small as a bug and hard as hell to see. Think I can get a few?”

“ _Those are expensive,”_ Genji said – almost a chastisement, if McCree didn’t know him better. “ _And heavily guarded_.”

“Sounds like a challenge for you,” the cowboy grinned slowly.

“ _It does. When do you need them by?”_

“The sooner the better,” he said.

_“Do you need audio?”_

McCree considered for a long moment before shaking his head. “Nah. If you manage it’d be helpful, but it ain’t necessary.”

 _“I will have them shipped to you by Sunday,”_ Genji said. “ _But you owe me for this, McCree. If Morrison realizes-“_

“Morrison won’t do jack shit, he’s too busy cleaning up after Blackwatch to worry about a missing set of cameras,” McCree said harshly. The silence that followed had him sighing and running a hand down his face. “Aw, jeeze. ‘m sorry, Genji, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

 _“You are forgiven,”_ Genji said. _“But you owe me regardless.”_

Jesse pulled a case of ciagrillos from his pocket and stuck one between his teeth. “What d’you want?” he asked, flicking his lighter and lifting it to his smoke.

 _“Nothing, yet,”_ there was a grin in the cyborg’s voice that set McCree on edge. He trusted the kid – thought it was hard not to – but that didn’t mean Genji couldn’t be a right shit. _“I’ll let you know when I want you to pay up.”_

“Deal,” McCree agreed. “If I text you my address though I’m gonna need you to get rid of it quickly. Not sure I’mma be here much longer, but I don’t want Reyes or Morrison stickin’ there nose out here. Rather them stay the hell away until they untwist their panties and get back on track.” Not that McCree thought that would ever happen. Not without Amari there to keep them on the straight and narrow.

 _“And how will they do that without you there to bother them at every turn?”_ Genji teased. “ _I’ll delete the address. You do not have to worry.”_

“Thanks, Genji. You know how to get a hold of me when you want that favor paid back. I’ll trust you not take advantage of that.”

The conversation ended quickly, McCree sending Genji the address of the guesthouse before tucking his phone into his pocket, turned off until further notice. He could finally see the stables in the distance, and he was running late for work after so many detours, but it wasn’t all bad. He had a plan, and that was more than he’d had thirty minutes ago.

Andromeda was waiting for him when he entered the stable, head bobbing as he came close to open her stall. She let him saddle her up and mount her without complaint, and seemed almost eager to get out and start walking along the fences. She was good company – quiet and steady – and he murmured his thoughts to her as she guided him along the fence line. He kept his eyes peeled, checking for any breaks that the cows might be able to get through, and by the time he made it down the length it was time to turn around and rotate the stock through the field. He had to move quicker than usual to make up for the time lapse, but things went well enough despite it all. He was tired and groggy at the end of it, feeling a bit like a wet blanket, but Andromeda was kind when he set her up for the night. She bumped her nose against his chest, whinnied softly until he scratched between her eyes.

“’m gonna miss you when this goes tits up,” he murmured affectionately. He’d resigned himself to that fate. Whether Andromeda understood him or not he couldn’t say, but when he filled her bucket with oats she was as happy as anything to stick her face in it and snack away.

The walk back to the house felt like a walk of shame up until he saw the battered old truck in the gravel walk. Aidan was leaning against the hood, arms crossed over her chest and a distant look in her eyes that he imagined was yearning. She turned to him as he crossed over to the gravel, the sound of boot-on-rock catching her ear, and she smiled.

“Sorry I didn’t ever make you that breakfast you wanted,” she said. She reached into the rolled down truck window and pulled out a plate, covered in foil. “Thought I’d apologize by bringing you dinner instead.”

“That’s awful kind of you,” he murmured as he stepped close to take it from her. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes wide in a way he had come to recognize well enough. She caught her lip between her teeth, worried it slowly, and a familiar heat ran over his skin. No use in craving something that wasn’t his, he reminded himself. He’d be better off finding a pretty girl or boy down in town, for all the risk it put him at. Surely running from the law was better than this game – safer, to boot. Law never hurt his feelings none. Aidan had the power to do a mean number on him if she wanted.

He pulled away from her and moved to the door, unlocking it and letting himself in. He could hear the sound of her shoes as gravel clinked along the metal surface, the way the step gave way under her weight with an aged groan. “Think I can come in?” she asked sweetly.

McCree should have said no. But instead he opened the door wide for her to slip through beside him, let his gaze linger on her thighs as they brushed together, on the soft swell of her rear and the small dip of her lower back. She was brushing her hair through with her fingers as he shut the door and sat the plate on the table, and when he turned to look at her again her fingers had shifted to begin unbuttoning her blouse.

“Aidan…” he said, soft and slow, gaze greedily eating up every flash of pale skin she offered. She came to him, hands lifting to cup his jaw and bring his mouth down to hers.

“No talking,” she breathed, body slotting against his. “Just kiss me?”

“Aidan, this ain’t right and you know it,” he protested softly. She kissed him, soft and sweet, let her lips trail along his jaw and down to kiss his throat.

“I want you to touch me,” she whispered. “Please, Jesse? I missed you.”

Jesse wondered if James hadn’t already touched her – if she hadn’t already lain under her husband to welcome him home, if she hadn’t already let her body warm his through with all the love in her body. If he wasn’t just offered the barest scraps of affection that she could afford to give. If he wasn’t just a dog begging at the table, waiting for either a friendly hand or a snap of meat.

His resolve wavered and his hands found her hips, full and familiar, and she purred so contentedly against him that it felt like a crime to pull away. When they came together it was slow, her body cradled on top of his as he murmured affections into her ear in gasping Spanish, not daring to speak them in a language they shared, and she shuddered against him with an intensity that shook him straight to the core.

They lay in the afterglow, skin slicked with sweat and bodies sated, and instead of lingering she slipped away from him and into the bathroom. He closed his eyes as the sound of the shower echoed through the house, and when she stepped out he pretended to be asleep. Soft fingertips ran down his arm, affectionate and empty, and he waited until she was out of the house and the rumbling of the truck faded into the distance to open his eyes again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've officially finished the rough draft of the last few chapters - only got two more after this - and I'm still fiddling with them. But expect this to be wrapped up pretty soon. Hopefully you all enjoy this as much as I've enjoyed writing it! It's not a particularly happy story, but it's been cathartic to write it.
> 
> As always, let me know what you think if you've got any particularly strong feelings, and if you see any errors or have any advice feel free to offer that as well. Thanks!!


	7. Like Real People Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things just aren't meant to last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains direct reference to a physically abusive relationship; if that sort of thing is upsetting to you please proceed with caution.

_I knew that look dear_  
_Eyes always seeking_  
_Was there in someone_  
_That dug long ago_  
_So I will not ask you_  
_Why you were creeping_  
_In some sad way I already know_

She tossed the package down on the end of his bed and it tore his gaze away from the game he’d been playing on his tablet. Her expression was curious, brow raised, and she said: “Got some mail down at the house. Figured you might want it.”

McCree lowered the tablet and glanced to the package. Still sealed, so she hadn’t opened it. “Thanks, darlin’,” he said, grinning crookedly. “Saves me the trip of goin’ to get it.”

“Gotta be somethin’ fancy if it’s comin’ all the way from Europe,” she noted. “Can’t imagine what you wound up havin’ to pay in shipping.”

Aidan was nosey. He could see it in her eyes – the hard stare, probing and demanding answers he wasn’t gonna give. McCree lit a cigarillo and pulled it up to his lips. “Called in a favor from an old friend, so shippin’ didn’t cost me none. Nice of you to worry bout me though.”

She ran her fingers through her hair, throwing it back from her shoulder. “You got the day off tomorrow, so feel free to sleep in,” she said.

“Somethin’ come up?” he asked. “Thought I was supposed to be gettin’ some of the stuff out from the barn.”

“James said he’d do it, to save cash,” she said. His mood soured at the mention of her husband, who he still hadn’t met and had no plans of meeting cordially. Jesse was more interested in the idea of planting a bullet between the bastard’s eyes. “And I’ve gotta work down at the saloon. Took on an extra shift, Dan said he needed the help.”

The lie was obvious – her words were clumsy, her gaze refused to meet his, and he wondered what in the world made her think she had to lie like that at all. Then he remembered he’d just thought about shooting her husband and thought, maybe, her concern was warranted. At least slightly. “Didn’t know money was that tight,” McCree observed.

“Money’s always tight around here,” she said. McCree was tempted to call bullshit on that, but he kept his mouth shut and just took a drag of his cigarillo.

After a moment passed and the smoke slipped between his lips he asked, “Anything else I can do then?”

“Just stay put,” she said. Part of it sounded like a simple suggestion – but it seemed more like a demand. McCree never did well with orders, had always been more determined to follow his own rules. Reyes had trained some semblance of subservience into him, but not enough to make it stick. “Might as well rest while you got the chance. No use in overworking yourself.”

“Preciate the thoughtfulness,” he said wryly, crossing his ankles and slipping the vice back between his lips for another drag, anything to get his mind off of everything else it wanted to wave around in his face. He exhaled, smoke forming a barrier between them. “Anythin’ else I can do for you ‘fore you head out?”

Aidan smiled then, slow and sly, and Jesse recognized the look. She stepped close, a saucy swing to her hips before she straddled his waist and dipped to press her lips to his. He pulled his arm away to keep from accidentally burning her. “I’ve got a few before I have to leave,” she breathed softly – invitingly.

He shouldn’t, but he reached over to put out his cigarillo in the ash try and grabbed her hips in his hands to force them down against his. She was soft and warm, receptive to his touches and eagerly coiling herself around him like a snake. He spun them around, pinning her to the bed and kissing her until her body arched and her toes curled.

McCree was already going to hell. Figured he might as well enjoy it along the way.

He mouthed down along her throat, pushed her jacket over her shoulders and she arched up to assist. When he pulled back to unsnap her pants his entire body stiffened like a bow knocked back and ready to fire. Spanning around her upper arm was a dark and nasty bruise. She noticed his pause, noticed his gaze, and was quick to sit up and kiss him again. He wondered how little she thought of him, if she imagined a few kisses would burn the image of her purple and mottled skin from his mind. He pressed between them and pushed her back down onto the bed, hand still gentle because he couldn’t bare the thought of adding another bruise to her, even accidentally.

His voice, meanwhile, was not so gentle. “The fuck happened to your arm?” he demanded.

“I fell,” she said breathlessly. It was a lie – Jesse knew what that bruise was. The four staggered edges, the too-pale strips between them. Someone’d grabbed her and it made a thick and disgusting taste coat the back of his throat. She reached for him again, fingers curling in his hair as she cooed, “Come on, Jesse, don’t be like this.”

He pushed her away again, hand firm against her chest as he stared her down. “That bruise didn’t come from no fall, Aidan, and you know it,” he snapped. She reeled back, wide-eyed and frightened, and all the wind left his sails and left him feeling worse than he had before. He should have just ignored it. Damn it all. He reached for her, gently brushed his fingers along her cheek. “Aidan, I ain’t tryin’ to be a problem, but I gotta ask –“

“Don’t,” she snapped. She shoved at him and he let her, pulling back as she scrambled out from under him. “I know what you’re thinkin’ and I’m not gonna let you have one bad thought in your head about my husband.”

Aidan was pulling her jacket back on with haphazard jerks, straightening out her clothes with a closed off expression that showed only the low burn of anger in her dark eyes. “Not hard to have a bad thought when he treats you the way he does,” Jesse retorted despite himself. Aidan spun sharply, focusing hellfire eyes on his.

“You say one more word, Jesse McCree, and I’ll kick you out of this house and leave you to the police,” she snarled. He’d never seen her so unhinged, so angry and wild, and he hated it. He kept his mouth shut, reached for the still-good smoke and lit it anew, watching her from the side of his eyes as he took a drag. She straightened her jacket in one brief and angry movement and stalked her way to the stairwell. She said nothing to him, not even when the door slammed shut at her back and the screen door whapped angrily against the frame. He didn’t move, not when he heard her stomping down the porch steps, not when he heard the truck start up with an angry roar and not when gravel sprayed against the side of the house.

Silence followed, heavy and oppressive, and all McCree had were his own thoughts. His gaze slid over to the package still waiting on the foot of the bed. He took his time sitting on the edge of his bed and enjoying his smoke, until he was certain that she was well on her way into town. Then he took up the package from the end of the bed and tore it open. Three small cameras fell out, small discs that all fit into the palm of his hand with ease, one of which was decorated with a sticker of what looked like – fuck, what had Genji called it? Onigiri? Along with them came a note, scrawled in the cyborg’s slanted script:

 _Sticker has audio. Drive hooks up to computer. Hope you find what you need_.

McCree murmured a useless thanks, given Genji wasn’t around to hear it. He sat the cameras aside and pulled off his boots to replace them with a pair of sneakers that had a softer sole, meant for subtlety when his boots just wouldn’t cut it. He took his time, eye on the clock, and when it hit 8 AM he placed his hat on his head and took up the package. He ripped off the portion with the address and tore it to pieces before flushing them down the toilet; the cameras went into his pocket while the rest went in the trash. This was easy – familiar. He’d never worked as extensively with Blackwatch’s subterfuge division like his other teammates had, wasn’t the absolute best at stealth like Genji was, but he knew how to get things done quick and quiet. This was like shooting fish in a barrel – too easy and messy as hell.

Sunlight burned down over him once he hit the open air, but it wasn’t yet as awful as it would be, and his hat kept the worst of the glare from his eyes as he set course towards the house. It was a long walk, too quiet and open to any wayward thought that wanted to fly through his mind, but he fell back onto training that Reyes had burned into his mind, that Amari had tested time and time again, that Jack had lauded whenever it won them a victory. He kept the thoughts idle, kept his mind focused, turning the plan over in his head until he could see the house. Both trucks were gone, as he’d expected. When he reached the back it was locked, but it didn’t stop him. He pulled his key ring out from his pocked and slipped the spare in. Aidan hadn’t told him that the keys to both houses were the same, but he’d noticed when she left her own set lying on the table one night. Was a stupid idea, not to keep the locks separate, but he wasn’t going to complain. Not now when it helped him.

Silence filled the air as he swung the door open and scanned the kitchen, still and pristine in a way he wasn’t used to seeing. Usually there was some sign of Aidan there, a box of girlscout cookies open on the counter or a rag balled up on the table in wait. Now it looked like something out of a catalogue. Logically, he couldn’t place a single blame on James – but he knew, deep down, that his return had fucked Aidan up somewhere along the lines. Not that he blamed her for acting like a cornered mouse. It just made him all the more determined to take care of the cat that’d cornered it.

Stubborn and fueled by his own discontent, McCree moved to the table and pulled out a chair to step up on so he could reach the ceiling and slip the first disc into place near the base of the light. One press to the raised button on the side had a light flashing, indicating it was live, and another press had its stealth mechanics kicking into gear. The next instant the disc was smooth and pale, the color of the ceiling and hard to spot if you weren’t looking directly at it.

The next disk went into the living room, on the ceiling in the center of the room, easy enough for him to reach quickly. The third had him going back down the hallway, the same he’d traveled the first day at the ranch, and to that closed door that he hadn’t entered before. He was silent, listening carefully for any sign of movement, and when he was certain that there was no one lying in wait he slipped into the forbidden quarters.

The room was big, the bed unmade and sloppy. Across from it was a dresser topped with makeup and supporting a large mirror that held the reflection of the bed. His nose wrinkled up as he imagined what happened on it. He approached curiously, glancing at the array, and noticed Aidan kept a shit ton of concealer around. Who needed that much-?

The memory of why he was here encroached, unwelcome, and he shut the thought down. Not here. Not now.

Slipping off his shoes, he stood up on the bed and secured the camera to the center of the ceiling, peeling off the sticker and placing it on the back of his hand. It curled up at the edges, not wanting to stay stuck, and when the camera was blended in he stepped down to slip back into his shoes. Five minutes later he was out of the house, door locked behind him, sticker pulling at the hair on his hand.

McCree knew already what he would find when the footage came back, knew to prepare himself for it – to steel his resolve and force himself from intervening. This wasn’t about him any more, though he hated to admit that it ever had been. This wasn’t about having Aidan, or that stupid fantasy he’d concocted in the back of his mind. It wasn’t about any of that. Now, it was all about keeping Aidan safe. Including from herself, if need be.

When he returned home he checked, made sure the cameras were running from his tablet, and settled himself in to wait, slapping the half-off sticker onto the back of his tablet, where it stuck more easily. Didn’t feel right to throw it away. He saw when Aidan returned home and slinked into the bedroom to curl under the sheets, saw when she fell asleep with her outfit from the saloon balled up and tossed into the corner. The first sign of trouble came late that night, around 6 o’clock. McCree had abandoned the loft and set the tablet up on a stand while he got to work cooking some breakfast for dinner, a pile of eggs bubbling in the pan and curling back along the edges. He paused in his stirring when he saw a figure cross the living room, and when he looked to the display he saw as James entered the kitchen and began pulling food out from the cabinet. It looked like he was searching for something, though what Jesse didn’t know.

A few minutes later Aidan slinked into view, robe wrapped around her. She was speaking, but he could only see the faint moving of her lips. Jesse narrowed his eyes, tried to read them, but couldn’t catch any word one way or another.

The sizzling in the pan became more demanding, and he glanced away long enough to give them another stir and pull them from the heat. When he looked back, he didn’t like what the scene had changed to. The couple was facing each other, though he could only see James face from his vantage point. He was yelling, gesticulating vaguely behind him, and Aidan had curled her arms around herself.

McCree felt sick, considered making his way to the house and stepping in. Knew he should. That would be the right thing to do – the good thing to do. What sort of man did it make him, to sit by and watch and do nothing at all?

But still he stayed rooted to the spot, hip cocked against the kitchen table and gaze only half on the tablet. He ate slowly, despondently, watching as the argument escalated. He felt sick. He felt like he should do something – but he was doing something, wasn’t he? It wasn’t active, it wasn’t stepping in and showing James a thing or two – but it was something. It was something that felt too damn close to nothing.

Maybe he could still change his mind. Sneak into the house while Aidan was away, have a proper conversation with James – put a bullet between his eyes before riding off into the sunset. Aidan wouldn’t forgive him for it of course – why would she, when she was still in the thick of it all? But James’d be gone and there wouldn’t be any problems left to come from him, or his drinking, or his temper.

_“You’re different from the rest, McCree,” Ana had said one night – the night before what would be her final mission. “I’ve seen what those Blackwatch kids are up to. You’re a good kid. Better off in Overwatch than with Reyes, not that you’ll tell him I said that.”_

_“Reyes ain’t all bad,” McCree defended automatically. “Taught me everythin’ I know. Most everythin’ anyway.” He looked at her, fond and affectionate, and she returned it with a matronly look that made it feel worthwhile._

_“Gabriel’s my friend, but he’s broken. Breaking. I know you see it, too. He’s a smart man. But you – you’re too young for this shit.”_

_“You know I’m almost thirty, don’t you?” Jesse grinned. “Not so young anymore.”_

_Amari laughed, head tossed back, silver hairs standing stark against a backdrop of inky blank. “Kids always think they’re not so young until they start going grey,” she said. She reached out and stole the hat from his head. “Do me a favor McCree, and don’t let the work get to you. You’ve got too much good left in you. I’d hate to see Reyes stomp it out.”_

Thirty minutes in, and the other shoe dropped. He watched as James reeled a hand back and slapped it across Aidan’s face, hard enough to make her stumble and grab the table for support. McCree threw his plate into the sink, hearing it break and shatter against the metal basin. He looked up at the ceiling, away from the damning evidence playing out on screen, firm resolution in his eyes as he turned a cigarillo between his fingertips. Just like he’d thought it’d be. God damn, but this time he hadn’t wanted to be right.

He turned the tablet face down, letting the display go dark, and dragged himself upstairs to shower. No amount of soap or water could wash off the discomfort though, the sickening knowledge that threatened to consume him like a wildfire. He was angry, he was disappointed, he was unsettled and violent. He wanted to march into the house and punch James right across his no-good face and send his happy ass to jail. Only part of that was a good idea. The rest, not so much. There was a plan, he reminded himself. A plan he had to stick to one way or another – a plan that was better than him just running in and trying to play hero to a woman too far in to see that she deserved better than the trainwreck of a man she’d tied herself to.

McCree knew women like her. Aidan wasn’t the first pair of big brown eyes that made him want to lash out at whoever had hurt them. Some of them were angry, but a lot of them were sad. Blamed themselves. Loved their abusers with all they had because somewhere along the lines, the ones hurting them had convinced them that they were the ones they needed. It was manipulation, it was abuse, it made McCree sick and it made it all worse to know that just telling Aidan it wasn’t her fault wasn’t gonna do a god damn thing to stop it.

When he stepped from the bathroom, towel around his waist, Aidan was there as if his thoughts had summoned her. She sat on the edge of his bed, cheek red and swollen and eyes glassy with tears. He breath left him like he’d taken a fist to the gut, and she looked up at him, and he dared to think that maybe she’d seen the light.

“Fall again?” he asked with a heavy tongue. He knew the answer, but she didn’t know that. He prayed for the truth.

“Some of the guys down at the bar got mean,” she murmured. His heart sank as the truth vanished. Still too far gone. “Dan’s taking care of them.”

“Sounds like Dan’d do a lot to keep you safe,” he said, unsubtle.

“Dan’s got enough trouble to deal with. Don’t wanna be any more,” she said, more firmly. She looked up at him. “m sorry for yellin’ at you like that this mornin’. Know you’re just worried ‘bout me, and I appreciate it. Know how this looks, and it’s awful suspicious, but James is a good man – he works hard, he just wants what’s best. People don’t ever see that though.”

Jesse exhaled slowly. “You love him an awful lot, to defend him like this,” he observed.

“He’s my husband. I’ve been with him since I was sixteen. Ain’t nothin’ I wouldn’t do for him. You have to know what that’s like, McCree.” She smiled, soft and teasing. “Guy like you has to have had plenty of gals before. One or two of them must’ve brought out something like that in you.”

The sickening feeling just got worse. “Know a few,” he rasped. Hated that one of them was her. Hated seeing the reflection of too many good women in her eyes, hated knowing that someone like her thought she deserved someone like James. Hated that he knew some part of her had to think she deserved this – that the fresh bruise on her cheek was warranted, a price to pay for her sins, a price that was too damn high.

“I’ve done wrong by James,” she said. Her fingers curled in the edge of her shirt. “You and I know it. I shouldn’t – I never shoulda let you stay here. Just wanted to help, and I was lonely, and I – I made a mistake, Jesse. And I can’t take it back. I’m just sorry I got you all wrapped up in this. You deserve someone that’ll be able to give you everythin’. I can’t do that. I like you – I think you’re a good man – but I…”

“You love your husband,” he echoed, head falling back against the wall as his gaze faded away. It hurt to look at her like that. “Yeah. I heard ya.”

The bed creaked as Aidan stood, her footsteps soft as she approached him. Her hand pressed to his jaw, soft and tender in a way he thought he didn’t deserve – not with the knowledge that he’d stood by and watched while her partner hit her. Not with the knowledge that he was going to break her heart, even if it was for the best. He wasn’t foolish enough to think that she’d fall happily into his arms and thank him for it.

“James wants you to leave,” she said. “And I think it might be for the best.”

McCree met her gaze, knew that she wasn’t going to change her mind. He could think of a thousand things to say, but he knew that making demands wasn’t going to help her. Yelling at her wasn’t going to help her. He could tell her over and over again what she needed to do, but James had her warped up real bad like a piece of plastic left out in the noon sun.

She got on her tiptoes to kiss him, a soft brush of her lips against his, and he allowed it until she pulled back and returned herself to solid ground. “I’m gonna miss you, Jesse McCree,” she said. “Ranch is gonna get awful quiet without you around.”

“You’ll keep yourself busy,” he said gruffly. Despite himself he reached to her, tucked dark curls behind her ears and let his thumb trace along the apple of her cheek. “One way or another. You got a whole ranch to look after, don’t you?”

“It’s something,” she agreed. She kissed his palm and pulled back, hand slipping into her back pocket to pull out an envelope, thick and heavy. “This is all the money you’re owed. You did a lot of work here.”

He accepted the envelope and glanced inside. It was a hell of a lot. Dangerous to walk around with this much cash, but what else could he do with it? “Maybe I’ll take a fancy vacation,” he said.

“Think that’d do you some good,” she agreed. “Give yourself a break. You put too much pressure on yourself.”

McCree sat the envelope on the nightstand. “I’ll have my things packed and ready to go tomorrow morning,” he said. “Don’t wanna linger any longer if it’s causin’ you trouble.”

Aidan nodded, arm curling back around her middle. “Stay safe, McCree. Try not to go anywhere too popular. Police’ll come after you in a heartbeat, and I don’t want to see someone I care about getting hauled off to jail.”

He grinned, crooked and playful and the worst lie he’s ever told. “It’ll take a lot more than that to get me off the streets.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter left after this one, meant to tie up loose ends and add some closure. Thanks for coming along on this ride with me, and even if this isn't what you specifically wanted, it's the ending that felt right to me. Hope y'all choose to keep reading on to the next chapter when it comes out. Thanks, guys.


	8. Cherry Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes all a cowboy needs is a loyal steed and some hard cash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, kids: the final stretch. Thanks for sticking with this all the way through, and as always, leave a comment with your thoughts/advice/critique. Look out for some of my future works (:

_Calls of guilty thrown at me_   
_All while she stains_   
_The sheets of some other_   
_Thrown at me so powerfully_   
_Just like she throws with the arm of her brother_   
_But I want it, it's a crime_   
_That she's not around most of the time_

 

Before the clock struck eleven McCree was out of bed, dressed and ready to go. His peacekeeper, neglected for lack of use, was tucked into his holster and shined eagerly at the very thought of use. Figured he’d have more use for it now that he was going out on the run again, at the very least. His serape felt warm and comfortable, safe against the cooler night air, and each cling of his spurs settled a comfortable familiarity over his senses. It’d been a while since he’d dressed the part, since he’d fallen back into familiar wear to bare the weight of a life he’d thought left behind.

He left and locked the door behind him, leaving the key under the mat, his duffle over one shoulder and his hat square on his head. He made his way to the stables, silent as death in the nighttime, and slipped his way down the aisles to the very back where a familiar and adoring mare waited for him. Andromeda nosed him, huffed and stomped her back legs, and McCree pulled the envelope Aidan had given him from his back pocket to rest it in the empty bucket of barley. Only a portion of the money from before remained there now, enough to cover the cost of the horse.

“Thought you might wanna go on a trip, old girl,” he murmured as he began setting her up, saddling her with ease and stroking her mane. Andromeda didn’t waver, never had, not even as he walked her from the barn. She was steadfast and loyal, hidden by the night to any casual eye even as he shut the barn door behind them.

Probably shoulda just asked, but McCree needed a way out. Sides. The dark and spiteful part of him thought it was a fair trade. Wasn’t like he didn’t leave them any money for it.

Andromeda carried him into town at a leisurely pace, moonlight reflecting over the dark hair along her neck and shoulders, and McCree handled her as easily as ever. The lights of town broke over the horizon, twinkling out of existence as many shops closed down for the night, but one place remained open and waiting: it was the one place McCree needed.

Dan’s saloon was quiet as he walked in, Andromeda tied up to the post outside in wait, and the man at the bar was a face McCree had recognized from the many portraits in the ranch house. Dan looked up, cheeks round, eyes dark, hair curly and cropped short. Looked just like Aidan, only a bit prettier if McCree was honest. Heart would have broken less if he’d just tried to woo him from the get go – he’d’ve been turned down in a second flat, he was certain.

“What can I do for ya?” Dan asked as McCree took a seat.

“I’m more thinkin’ bout what I can do for you,” McCree said frankly. “Your sister, Aidan. Lives up at Hart Ranch and Saddle Company. Comes down here on Mondays for extra hours.”

Dan’s eyes narrowed, hands slowing mid-work. “Yeah, Aidan’s my sister. What about her?”

McCree lit his cigarillo, taking his time and a slow drag. “She’s got herself a mean husband, doesn’t she?”

The bartender pursed his lips. “Ain’t none of your business what goes on in my sisters home,” he said gruffly. “Sides, hard to get in a bad word about James round these parts. Most people worship the dirt on his boot.”

Opportunity spotted, McCree pulled a small drive from his pocket and slid it across the counter top. Dan furrowed his brows and looked down curiously at it. “What’s that?”

“Proof you need to get that shithead out of your sisters hair for good,” McCree said. “Worked up on the ranch for a few months. Think your sisters a real nice girl, but troubled. Got herself involved with a man that doesn’t seem to care a dip about her. Seen a few suspicious bruises.” He watched Dan, watched the anger that sparked under those familiar dark eyes. The brimstone to his sister’s hellfire. “Reckon you know what I’m talkin’ bout.”

“You video tape him or somethin’?” he asked.

“Or somethin’,” Jesse nodded and said, “Get me a whiskey, will you? Don’t like talkin’ business without a drink in me. Sure you understand.”

Dan didn’t pull his eyes from him, just reached under the bar and pulled out a bottle and a cup, slapping them both down on the bar in front of McCree. “Talk. Now. I’m not about to play any games when it comes to Aidan – either you tell me what you wanna say or I call the cops in here and get rid of you real quick like, you hear?”

McCree poured himself a glass. “Set up a few cameras in her house,” he said. “Noticed things were strange. That usb is connected to them – plug it in and you get a live feed of whatever’s going down in that house. Saves the files too so you can go back and watch them later. Film caught something yesterday.”

Dan was silent, staring down at the drive. “Are you tellin’ me you got proof of him hittin’ her?” he asked, soft and as quiet as the dead.

“I’m tellin’ you,” McCree nodded.

“Why didn’t you turn it in, then?” Dan demanded, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“I’m a wanted man, Dan. I walk up to the cops and I wind up the one behind bars. I wanna help, but I also don’t wanna wind up the one getting shafted.” He took a sip of his drink, watching as the man considered both him and the offering between them. McCree prayed that he took it – prayed because if he didn’t, then McCree was running low on options, and there was no way in hella his conscious would let him lie if he just walked away and left her in that house. Not after everything – not after all she’d done for him.

Dan gave a heavy sigh before picking up the drive. Some of McCree’s anxiety faded as it disappeared into his pocket. “You’re gonna wanna get out of town pretty fast then,” he said. “Aidan realizes what you’ve done and she might grab a shotgun and blast your head of. You gonna manage alright?”

“Well enough,” McCree said. “I got me a horse and a gun. Don’t need much else.”

Dan blinked incredulously at him. “Actually, you do. Or do you think this is the 19th century all over again?”

Despite himself Jesse laughed, shoulders trembling as he chuckled, and he took another drink. The alcohol made him feel better about everything else. “Maybe. But I like this century just fine, thanks.”

Dan shook his head. “Look, get out of here. Take the whiskey with you – it’s on the house. You’ve done me a favor, but I’m not about to get in trouble for havin’ a criminal in my bar. Got enough trouble as it is last time you were in here.”

McCree could work with that. He finished off his glass and twisted the cap back on the bottle. “You gonna use that footage?” he asked, suddenly serious again, gaze lifting up to meet the barkeeps.

“Gonna turn it in and get that bastard the hell away from my sister,” he agreed. “She’s too messed up to do anythin’ about it. Thinks she deserves it, thinks he’s just overworked. Says it’s her fault for being so irritating. Been tryin’ to convince her otherwise for years, but she can’t handle bein’ alone. James has been there for so long she’s afraid of what’ll happen without him. ‘fraid she’ll wind up alone.”

It was nothing new to Jesse – nothing but a confirmation of suspicions he’d harbored in the back of his mind since the day James came back into town. “Think this’ll help her?” he asked.

“I think this’ll get James away for good, and this’ll give her time to fix herself,” Dan said. “Maybe she’ll actually go to therapy now. I don’t know. Maybe she’ll just wind up workin’ herself to death, much as I hate to think it.” His gaze hardened as he remembered who he was talking to and he said. “But that ain’t none of your business, is it?”

Protective streaks had to run in the family. He could see it clearly here in Dan, in the violent edge of his eyes and the scowl on his lips. Too much like Aidan and too different all at once. Maybe this was a glimpse of what Aidan could have been. McCree stood slowly. “Reckon it isn’t,” he agreed. “Just wanna know I’m doin’ the right thing, is all.”

Dan watched him sternly as he picked up the glass and got to work cleaning it. Finally he said, “Two towns over, my buddy Rick owns an inn. I can call him, tell him to look out for you. He’ll give you a room, on the house, as a favor to me. It’ll get you out of the fall out zone and it can get you on your way.” He pulled a business card from a small display stack and scribbled an address on the back. “Rick don’t ask questions. You’ll be good there for a little while.”

Seeing as it’d be stupid to refuse help like this, Jesse took the card and slipped it into his back pocket. “Preciate it. Now if you don’t mind, I’m gonna go ahead and skedaddle. Got a long trip ahead of me.”

The duo split, McCree walking from the bar and back into the night air. Andromeda waited there, patient as ever, and McCree couldn’t help but give her a friendly pet. She bore his weight as he guided her from town, a solemn memory that he’d be better off burying and forgetting. Strange to think how optimistic he’d been upon arriving. He’d thought it’d be a new start, fresh and free of chains to hold him down. What a shit show this had turned out to be.

Five nights passed, spent travelling and stopping to keep Andromeda fed and watered. He reached the inn scribbled on the back of the card and was rented a room, first two nights free. Andromeda was left in a stable; some of his money went to pampering her in appreciation for the hard work she’d done in getting him there. His phone was plugged in and charging, tablet nearly dead as it waited its turn, but he refused to turn his gaze away from the news story that had caught his eyes.

It was small, barely two paragraphs of information, but he recognized the man in the mugshot. A smug sliver of satisfaction curled in his gut.

This wasn’t a happy ending, not really. But it was better than nothing. McCree had no home, no income, nothing but a technically-stolen horse and his gun: frankly speaking he was probably worse off than he was before he’d ever gotten to damn Santa Fe. Shit, he couldn’t even tell whether the satisfaction he felt was sincere or a hollow echo of what he thought he should feel. He couldn’t help but think of how messed up Aidan was feeling now, how miserable and lonely – guilty no doubt, convincing herself that it was her fault he got clapped in irons.

Slowly he ran a hand down his face, tossed the tablet aside. James’ face stared at him, heavy and tired, dark eyes demanding, and McCree wondered if maybe this damn weight was the reason why Morrison and Reyes could never stay satisfied.

“Not meant to make decisions like this,” McCree mumbled, lifting his smoke to his lips as he rubbed at tired eyes with the heel of his palm. “Don’t know why I thought I could.”

As if sensing his discomfort the phone buzzed on the cord, demanding his attention. He reached towards it and frowned, not recognizing the number. He opened the text regardless and his stomach dropped out. It was a screenshot of a news article, bold print emblazoned across the top of the screen:

_Explosion at Swiss Headquarters Rocks Overwatch To Its Core_

For an instant he considered going there – catching the nearest flight over to Europe, searching through the rubble, coming to help the remaining. But the thought died as quickly as it’d come. He deleted the message, tossed his phone aside as he fell back onto the mattress and stared up at the ceiling.

Nothing was ever simple. Jesse wondered what idiot had ever believed it could be.

He fell asleep, slowly and miserably, dreaming of hellfire eyes and soft lips as the world shook and rumbled around them, burying them under layers of stone, until the two were pressed together, bodies intertwined and immortalized in the stone that killed them.


End file.
